Good news

I've broken my informal rule about no politics on the blog a few times and I'm going to break it again today. In the past, I've mentioned my friend, Spesh, and the work he does in Israel for "the cause." Those are his words and I know what he means but sometimes people ask, "What cause?" I'm never quite sure how to answer but usually I'll say "peace" and other times I'll say, "to end the occupation." I also think the answer is to end the oppression and disenfranchisement of the Palestinians.

The group that Spesh works with is called Anarchists Against the Wall. They work with Palestinian villages and engage in direct action against the wall being built by the Israeli government in the West Bank. A lot of this wall is already built and it furthers the social and economic isolation of the Palestinians.

Recently, they've won a high court decision to re-route part of the wall around the village of Bil'in:

A victory for the anarchists
By Meron Rapoport
Last Update: 07/09/2007 11:57

"I remember the moment I marched among a crowd of Palestinians," said one of the Israeli activists who participated in the ongoing demonstrations near the village of Bil'in, this week. Those demonstrations led to a High Court decision a few days ago ordering the rerouting of the separation fence near the village. "I served in the army, and my first instinct was to look for the signal operator and to check if we were marching properly spaced. The Palestinians shouted 'Allahu Akbar,' which is supposed to be the nightmare of every Israeli soldier, but I suddenly realized that I was with them, that they weren't my enemies."

Click here for the full story.

If this is an issue you care about, please take a look at the full story and the AAW website. If you care to donate, it would be much appreciated. If you want to debate, we can do that in the comments.

Thanks for your patience. I'll return to the regularly scheduled content tomorrow.

Grateful for: those working for the cause.

Good Dad

One major worry prior to my recent Israel trip is that I would get annoyed with my dad and Susan. Susan did annoy me, mostly by complaining about a lot of stuff that we couldn't do anything about and contradicting me. I didn't confront her, I just tried to put my viewpoint forward and only insist on being heard—not on being correct. Don't get me wrong, I wasn't saint-like or anything, but I managed my irritation well and, for the most part, got along fine with everyone.

A couple of things about my time with Dad stuck with me. First, he made a point of telling me that I was beautiful, which he does every time he sees me "dress up"—and other times too. This trip, he told me after the wedding, when we got home and were pouring ourselves out of our sweaty clothes. I was wearing a pretty dress that didn't fit me very well and almost no make up. I shrugged it off when he said, "You're really beautiful, you know," but it was good of him.

I'm lucky to have a dad who has always made me feel beautiful. Knowing your father sincerely thinks you're attractive, both inside and out, gives you a kind of confidence that can't be obtained any other way. I think it's totally necessary and helpful. I have lots of friends who never got this from anyone in their family or who got negative messages—from either Mom, Dad or both. (My mom is not quite as consistent as Dad, but with very few exceptions has always given me positive messages about my attractiveness—and has consistently encouraged me to dress in a flattering way.)

I know Dad's not saying nice things to make me feel better, he says them because it's sincerely how he feels. He's awkward about it, and I'm awkward accepting it, but I do appreciate it. It's been priceless to know that a man sincerely found my looks, my shape, attractive. I haven't had to build up my confidence because it's always been there. Maybe a lot of that is just my personality, my temperament, but certainly my father (and mother) helped.

The other thing Dad said, in a more conversational context, was how I sent away some boyfriends who he liked. I laughed and asked how many of my boyfriends had he actually met. We had this talk in the car in the presence of B2 (Mr. Ultra-Orthodox), so I felt a little weird about it, but that didn't stop me. The guy dad had in mind was the guy I usually call "the best boyfriend ever"—and I guess I'm not the only one who thought of him that way (he's Mom's favorite too). Dad asked, "Why did you get rid of him? I liked him."

"I liked him too. But I moved to NC and…well, I didn't know how to deal with the long distance."

"I can understand that."

We went through the handful of others he'd met, including the second DC-boyfriend (pre-blog) Dad said, "I did like him so much."

"Really? Why not? I didn't like him so much either, actually."

"He didn't seem to have enough regard for you."

"Interesting." That surprised me because, if anything, that guy had too much regard for me. However, he and I were in the middle of a terrible fight when Dad met him, so that probably lead to the poor impression. Or Dad has excellent instincts. Maybe some of both?

"That's my standard for my children's partners—they have to adore them."

"Huh." I thought, 'Why isn't that my standard for my partners?'

Good question.

So, that's my test for the next boyfriend: you adore me or I'm not playing. The end.

Grateful for: high standards.

Real time

I can finally get back to posting in real time. Are you as excited as I am?

I am home and very happy to be here. Those trips to Israel are surreal and make coming home difficult. I wouldn't say it's exactly culture shock but I need time to adjust.

I have tons of photos, most of which are up on flickr. I don't have the energy to get them over here and tell the story, but please click through and take a look. They're organized into set with some captions. If you read my travel posts, you'll understand the context of the pictures.

Wisely, I took Friday off from work. I used the time to catch the blog up and try to do nothing. Nothing included going to a movie and sitting at a coffee shop for a couple of hours. I fought to stay awake until 10pm--I made it to 10:40, when I dozed in front of the tv. Unfortunately, I popped awake at 4am. I mostly managed to fall back asleep until a more reasonable hour.

Oh, you'll like this. Guess what was waiting for me in the mail? My passport! I'd love to know when they sent it, but, mysteriously, there was no post mark on the envelope. It wasn't express mail either, just regular old "priority mail." The issue date is 7/13/2007. Huh? This implies that when I first started calling the damn thing had already been issued but they hadn't managed to send it. Really? How screwed up. Now I have two passports. I know I'm supposed to send the one-year one back, but back to where? I'll figure that out later.

My anti-jet lag plan is to do nothing this weekend. Nothing this morning meant going to soccer practice at 9am and running around for an hour. Actually, that may have been a good idea, since it might help me sleep well tonight. I also picked up Tabitha--she didn't enjoy the car ride home, but she seems fine. She's been lazing around all day ignoring me. That's normal though I'm a little surprised not to see her on the couch.

Whew. It's 8:30 and I can barely keep my eyes open. I'm staying up until at least 10pm. Tomorrow's nothing includes laundry, an art gallery and movies. It's good to get back to the "real" world.

Grateful for: home.

Homeward

I woke, as planned, at 5am. Around ten after five, Spesh said, "J?" I answered, "I'm up!" I brushed my teeth, washed my face and put on the outfit I laid out the night before. I closed the suitcase and was ready to go by 5:20. Spesh said, "Do you have your passport?"

"Yes."

"Ticket? You have an e-ticket, right?"

"Yes--but I have my itinerary."

"Did you pack everything?"

I said, "Pack? Hmm. Good idea."

"I mean, is everything in the suitcase?"

"Yes! You're as bad as my father."

When Spesh carried my bag down to the taxi, I said, "Do you have the key?"

"Yes."

I said, "I'm as bad as my father!"

We couldn't get the car, so Spesh called a cab for me on Wednesday evening. The driver was early and got me to the airport by 5:45am for my 8:05am flight. The driver was friendly and attempted conversation in broken English. He said, "The food here is very good--you like? Falafel?"

"Yes, it's very good!"

Last year, Spesh came to the airport and stood in the first security line with me. This year, I was on my own and the first screening was faster.

Security lady: Why did you come to Israel?
Jamy: For my niece's wedding.
SL: You've been to Israel before?
J: Yes.
SL: Always to visit family?
J: Yes.
SL: Speak or read any Hebrew?
J: Um, I can sight read and I know a few words.
SL: You learn this where?
J: In Sunday school.
SL: Ah, you are a member of a congregation?
J: Not now, but I was…my parents were.
SL: And the name of that congregation?
J: Temple Beth Am.
SL: Ok, thank you. You can take your bag to be x-rayed there…

And that was it. I was asked more questions last year--including all of the questions I was asked this year. Was it simpler this year because I didn't have to explain Spesh's presence?

The next step was to check in for the flight. After that, I went through another security check where my carry on bag was x-rayed. I said, "I have a computer in here, should I take it out?"

"Yes, please. It's so small! I have to get one like that."

I smiled. "That's the point!"

Next, I went through passport control, where I was asked nothing. Finally, a young woman looked at my boarding pass before I went into the duty-free shopping/waiting area.

I got a coffee and helped myself to the free wifi. Then I decided I should bring some presents home--at least something to say thank you to DrJ for watching the cat. I stopped in a bookstore and got a couple of maps and a Hebrew phrase book. It's long overdue, and possibly humorous to buy on the way out of the country, but given that I'll be back, why not? I bought a couple of other things for DrJ and Alicia (who's meeting me at Heathrow). Nothing too special, just tokens. (I'm not saying what, since I don't want to scoop myself with DrJ.)

The first leg of the flight was uneventful, but I had an annoying seatmate. She was an older woman and she kept talking to me, even after I put my headphones in. Normally, I like to make conversation with my seatmate, if they're amenable. But all this woman did was grumble and sigh and I wasn't in the mood to hear her complain. Plus, on this leg, I could stop and start any number of movies and tv shows at will--very cool!

After the flight landed the lady said, again, that this was her last hurrah, probably the last time she'd make the trip. I thought, "You should ask her if she was visiting family. It would be a kindness." I took a deep breath and asked. We had a brief conversation, where I mostly listened. She was more pleasant but still on the gloomy side. It's hard getting old. Still, I was glad I was not going to sit next to her on the next leg.

This was my eight-hour layover in London. My college friend, Alicia, lives near London and she'd offered to pick me up and drive me somewhere for the afternoon. I was looking forward to seeing her because I knew it would be a great way to end the trip.

The guy at passport control discouraged me from leaving the airport, but when I told him how long the layover was, he agreed it was reasonable. Also, since I had a boarding pass, I'd get to skip one of the lines and go straight to security.

Alicia was waiting for me and whisked me off in her minivan to nearby Windsor. First, she bought me lunch and then she paid for our entrance to the castle. She said it would be too expensive for me to pay, given the ridiculous exchange rate. Since all I had were shekels and dollars, I didn't argue.

Lunch was good and the castle was impressive, but the sights were mostly a haze. I talked Alicia's ear off with tales of the Israeli family and Spesh. I tried to pause and listen to what she had to say too. We had about four and half hours together, but it just flew by. It's been at least four years since the last time we saw each other. This was not nearly enough time to catch up, but it was well worth it. It did make a sweet ending to the trip.

The next leg of the flight was also uneventful. I was sad that I did not have the movie-on-demand service, but I did see something that hasn't even been released in the states yet. Cool! (Becoming Jane--don't bother.)

I also had another unpleasant encounter with a fellow passenger. It was the woman sitting in the seat in front of me--we were both on the aisle. I first spotted her when she had a mild argument with a young woman trying to get into her row. I could only make out the last line, "No, it's my assigned seat!" Finally, the woman got up to let the other woman in to her seat. I noticed her face--she had a mouth permanently pursued from a life spent showing disapproval of people.

About halfway through the flight, after dinner, everyone fell asleep. I did too, even though I was determined to stay awake. As I woke up and got back to watching a movie, the lady in front of me reclined her seat as far as possible. I can't blame her, but she put me in an awkward position. If I stirred at all, I'd bump her seat. I needed to stir quite a bit because my knee was bothering me. A few minutes after her big recline, she turned to me and said, "You keep bumping my seat! You must stop." Her accent was heavy and possibly Russian.

I said, "I'm sorry, but you're practically in my lap and I can't move without bumping you."

"It's not normal! He is too!" She gestured to the man in front of her who was also fully reclined.

"I'm sorry, I'm doing my best not to bump you. But there's no room."

She said, "Everyone is in same place!"

"Sorry."

A few minutes later, the guy in the window seat in my row needed to get out. With the seats so far reclined, it's impossible to exit the row without hanging on to the seatbacks for balance. I wondered how she would handle it. I did my best to ease out without touching her seat, but I wasn't completely successful. The exiting man did an even worse job. As I stood in the aisle, the lady started fussing at me again. "Why do you keep bumping me?"

"I tried to explain to you that I'm doing my best not to bump you. I said I was sorry."

"It's not normal!"

"I can't help it when you're in my lap."

"Ok, fine! Not normal!" And when she sat down, she moved her seat up, just a little. Geez lousie, what a loon! She didn't yell at me again but I was bracing for another onslaught when I pulled my book out of the pocket in the back of the seat.

We landed safely, I got home by 12:30 and I was asleep by 1:30am. Whew. Long, long, long day. It' s good to be back.

Grateful for: home.

Washington DC: 8/3/2007

Last day in Israel

On Tuesday, I'd told Spesh that I was ready to participate in some kind of action. The one he'd mentioned was canceled so he suggested we go visit a Palestinian town in the West Bank where his group, "Anarchists Against the Wall" is trying to stop the bulldozing of a Palestinian's land.

First thing in the morning, Spesh went to meet a student. I went to buy him some soap. The soap buying was a special kind that Spesh likes and I decided I'd get it for him as a thank you. (A meager one, but still.) It was a bit of an adventure since I only knew the name of the soap, not how to say "soap" or "do you have" in Hebrew. But, I managed. On my way home, I picked up a couple of pastries and a coffee. The pastry was so rich I only ate one. I didn't expect it to taste so good. Most of the pastry I've had in Israel is "parve" and tastes awful. Spesh arrived home later than I expected, but that was ok since I'd used the time to write.

The plan was to pick up the car around noon and drive to the West Bank. We decided to have lunch first and Spesh took me to a place with great hummus right around the corner. The thing is, I don't like hummus enough to eat a whole plate of it. Spesh seems to do this all the time. I don't get it. He ordered for me and I tried my best to eat it all. I barely got halfway through and I fussed a bit about it not tasting so great. Spesh said I was mistaken, that it was very good. I made a face.

I changed into long pants before we left--I will go that far to dress appropriately. I was wearing a t-shirt with a printed picture (of an elephant) and I asked Spesh if it was appropriate. He said, "Raise your arms." I did. "Ok." Why did he ask me to raise my arms? To make sure my shirt wouldn't rise up and expose my midriff or underpants. It didn't.

The fellow loaning us the car saved us a trip by picking us up at Spesh's place. We dropped him off and picked up another guy (a surprise to me) who is a photographer. He actually used a video camera on this outing--and I think that's what Spesh meant. I brought my camera and Spesh asked me to take a couple of pictures.

The cause of our trip was to help a Palestinian man, Sal, whose land in being encroached on by a settlement. Sal lives in a village adjacent to the settlement, but his olive tree grove is dead in the center of the industrial part of the settlement. Sal actually won a Supreme Court case to protect his land over twenty years ago. However, bulldozers have recently moved in the remainder of his parcel and Spesh's group has come to his aid by placing themselves, physically, on the land, though not usually directly in front of the bulldozer.

It was about an hour drive to the village, where we picked up Sal. He directed us to the site and point out a rock with red spray-painted markings.

They supposedly signified the border and work was clearly being undertaken beyond it. Spesh asked me to take a pictures of the rock. Down a hill from the road, there were two Danes sitting on a big rock ledge, symbolically protecting the land. Just off the road, on top of the hill, was a machine (probably an excavator) with a pile driving attachment, breaking up rocks.

Spesh and Sal walked past the bulldozer, down the hill, and Sal yelled at the machine operator and threw a stick at the machine.

Um, whoops. Spesh put his hands on Sal's shoulders but he continued to yell at the operator. The operator yelled back, stopped the machine and got out. I stood back by the road and observed. The video guy came up to me and said, "Ah, he's Palestinian too--and he's driving the machine!" The video guy managed to piss off a couple of supervisor-types while Spesh and I were looking at the marked rock. The supervisors swore at him and told him to stop filming (all caught on tape). One guy drove off and the other called the police.


I went down the hill to where Spesh and the Danes were.

The dirt was unstable and Spesh held out his hand to help me down. Spesh had advised the landowner to make himself scarce. We stood around for a while, then decided it was time to go.

This was supposed to be a safe, non-confrontational action, but things were a little hairy. We beat it back to the car and the video guy waited behind while we picked up the landowner (hiding out in a warehouse nearby) and drove him back to the village. We dropped the landowner and the Danes off and went back for the video guy. When we entered the settlement, the gate was down--it had been opened when we first entered. However, it was opened for us without any questioning. We picked up the video guy and noticed a police van behind us. We headed back to the gate but the police van didn't follow us, rather it continued in the direction of the bulldozer.

We drove back to the village, loaded everyone in the car and drove to Sal's house. He set up a table and his older son brought out cups and bottles of water (not bottled water, but bottles filled with water that had been refrigerated). I wasn't sure of the etiquette so I sat and watched what others did. The video guy poured himself water but no one else did, so I refrained. The son then brought out a bottle of orange-colored water--something like kool-aid--filled cups to the brim and passed them around--first to the video guy, then me, then Spesh, then the male Dane and then the female Dane, and last his father.

Spesh, Sal, and to a lesser extent, the video guy talked for a long time in Hebrew about the border issue.

Sal brought out a packet of papers and, later, a small briefcase with more papers, documenting his court battle. He had several maps of the land and other documents in Hebrew and Arabic. Eventually, Sal's wife brought us coffee flavored with cardamom. Usually, I don't like to drink coffee at three in the afternoon, but I was falling asleep in my chair, and it would have been impolite not to drink. I drank happily--the coffee was strong and quite good.

After sitting and talking (or, in my case, sitting and sweating), we finally left. The landowner gave us some papers to take to a lawyer. We dropped the Danes off on the way there. We drove on to a town north of Tel Aviv and met the lawyer. More talking in Hebrew. I took the opportunity to pace up and down the sidewalk and take an auto-timer picture of myself covered in dirt from our adventures.


After that meeting was over, we stopped for some food on the way to Tel Aviv. It was good but I was almost too hot and tired to eat. My only request was no hummus. Spesh even ordered fries for me, since he knew I'd been craving them.

We dropped off the video guy then Spesh dropped me off at his place and took the car to its next user. That meant he would have to walk back alone. I assumed I'd go with him, but since we were already a couple of blocks from his place when I noticed what was going on, I just accepted the kindness.

I used my time alone to check email and take a shower. After the shower, I listened to music and did some writing. I expected Spesh home by 7:30 but he arrived nearer to 8pm. Our plan was to watch a movie. Spesh doesn't have a tv, but he has a computer--and movies can be watched.

Spesh walked in talking on the phone and continued talking while he took a shower. Unbelievable. When he came back out and started on the computer, I said, "When are we going to watch the movie?"

"Soon, soon."

"Fine."

By 9:30, he settled down and said, "Ok, if you can stop delaying, we can finally watch the movies."

I laughed and then I said, "What's going to happen when your phone rings?"

He picked up the phone and turned it off. "That's how much I love you, J."

I smiled. I enjoyed the relaxing nothing of watching a movie after our long, tedious, stressful day. I think Spesh did too. When the movie ended, I picked up Spesh's phone and turned it back on, "That's how much I love you!" To my shock, he had only one text message. Turning off the phone was good.

You think that since I had to get up at 5am to get in a taxi at 5:30am so I could be at the airport by 6am to catch an 8am flight, I'd want to get some sleep and Spesh would let me. But that's not what happened. We turned off the movie around midnight and he paced around the apartment looking for something I could bring back as a present for C-money. Earlier, I asked to see a map of where we'd been that day--12:30 seemed like a good time to show me. I spent some time studying the map, which had the locations of roadblocks, watchtowers, the wall and the "greenline." It's not like the other maps of Israel that I've seen. Spesh kept wandering around and talking to me. His place is big, but there's no real privacy since the bedroom has windows (which are always open for ventilation) and a glass door. After 1am, he settled down to the computer and asked me if the typing would bother me. I said no and went to sleep for a few hours.

Though brief, it might have been my best sleep of the trip. Of course, it came on my last night there. Typical.

Grateful for: thoughtful friends.

Washington DC: 8/3/2007

On the move

• Early rising at the Kibbutz.
• Breakfast with Spesh's Mom. She made coffee poorly. I drank it gratefully.
• Train to Tel Aviv. I got a second coffee at the station.
• Met by car. Drop off driver.
• Drive from Tel Aviv towards Jerusalem to activist summer camp.
• Spesh gives spiel, in Hebrew. I sit some distance away and read. Later, I nap.
• Drive to the university. Sit in Spesh's office and wait for students who don't arrive.
• Notice the sign for the tiny crowded office reads, "Post Doc Room." I point this out to Spesh. He says, "They won't dare call it an 'office'."
• Lunch. Schnitzel for me, veggies for Spesh.
• Snap at Spesh for being on the phone all the fucking time. "If you don't have time for me, set me free. I'm with you but you're not here. And I can't even tell what you're talking about." (98% of his phone conversations are in Hebrew.)
• He apologizes and says it's out of his control.
• I say, "There's a lot of things I could say…but, I just don't enjoy it."
• He says, "I can understand that."
• Things are actually better after that.
• We drop off the car. Take a taxi home.
• I'm hot and exhausted. Spesh uses the computer. I start to read then fall semi-asleep.
• I tell Spesh, "I want to take a shower."
• "You know, we have a water shortage, this isn't Canada!"
• I stare, silent.
• "Why are you asking to take a shower, like you need permission?"
• "I'm asking because I need a towel! That's the polite way to ask!"
• "Ok, fine, I'll get you a towel!"
• And he did. I took a shower and felt much better.
• I did some writing, he did some calling.
• We were invited to dinner at Gal's. The call came at 6pm, we left around 7:45 and walked about half an hour to her place.
• I was coated in sweat when we arrived. Other than that, I didn't mind the walk.
• Dinner was good--another vegetarian special.
• She had a friend staying there who I mistook for her boyfriend.
• I had quite a pleasant conversation with him.
• Wonder what he thought of Spesh and me.
• Spesh practically fell asleep after dinner.
• I tell him, "We're taking a taxi home." He didn't argue.
• We got home and went to sleep right away.
• I still woke up earlier than necessary. What can you do?

Grateful for: good friends.

Tel Aviv, Ben Gurion Airport: 8/2/2007

Travels with Spesh

On Sunday night, Dad and Susan stayed at a guest house next door to where we had dinner. The town was halfway to the airport. B1 and I got a ride part way back to Jerusalem with the rest of the family in a big van. They dropped us off when we hit the city limits and we took a taxi the rest of the way. We didn't get back until 2am, which was unfortunate since we needed to leave the house by 8:30am.

B1 was also leaving on Monday, but not until the afternoon. He planned to meet B2 at the Central Bus Station and go from there to a cemetery to visit their mother's grave. Spesh had gone to stay with his parents at the kibbutz and I was supposed to catch a 9am bus to their part of the world. B1 and got in a taxi together around 8:3am to get to the bus station.

We said goodbye there and I had to go through security to enter the station. When I entered, I didn't see anything that looked like a ticket window--just shops and restaurants. I figured out that I had to go upstairs to find the buses. The night before, Spesh had given me the schedule, bus number and platform number. I managed to buy a ticket and make it onto the 9:00am bus. It left about 15 minutes late but arrived 5 minutes early.

The ride was uneventful. I wanted to fall asleep but I didn't want to miss the stop either--it was an express bus and I'd get off at the first stop, "Megiddo Junction." The trip took over an hour, but I was worried that if I fell asleep, I wouldn't wake up. I sat next to a young soldier and he slept the entire trip.

After about an hour an a half, we approached the stop. One of the of Yeshiva boys across the aisle asked where I was getting off (I assume). I said, "Megiddo." He said, "Ma?" (which means "what"). I said, "Megiddo." He said, "Ma?" I said, "Megiddo!" His friend socked him and I got off the bus.

Spesh was waiting for me at the bus stop, which was literally at the junction of two major roads, but not an actual town. I told him about the boy and Spesh said I'd been saying "Megiddo" correctly.

We didn't discuss it, but the plan was to go to Haifa and look around. On the way, we stopped by Spesh's landlady's house. I was dying for coffee since I didn't have time for breakfast in Jerusalem. Spesh said the landlady might offer me coffee. He might have been joking, but when we got to her place she offered coffee and I accepted. It was possibly a faux pas, but the coffee was very good.

Haifa was another twenty minutes down the road. Both of us were beat--Spesh was fighting a cold and I was exhausted, but that didn't deter us. We drove around the campus where Spesh will have a post doc next year. It's an impressive place, with a lot of shiny new buildings. We got hungry so Spesh called some friends to get suggestions for lunch places. We took the suggestions and drove to an interesting neighborhood. We parked and immediately I spotted a place with sign out front, in English, which read "hot spot." I said, "Do you think they have wifi? Do you want to use the computer?"

"Sure, let's bring it in."

I pulled the computer out of the suitcase and we set ourselves up in the tiny café. The one person working there spoke English and gave us menus in English, which made life much easier--even for Spesh, since he didn't have to translate. First we got drinks, then food. The food took a long time to come out but we made use of that time by reading an article about Spesh's activist group on the internet. He was also on the phone almost continuously, which started to grate.

After we ate lunch, we decided to do some exploring on foot. We walked down the block and ran into Haifa's underground cable car system, which consists of one line. Speesh thought it would be fun to take a ride, so we did. We went down the hill to the old city, "Paris Square." The area was grungy, like any old port, and full of Russians--I heard my first (and only) "spaseeba" there.

Spesh didn't like it, but I thought it was great. I like looking at the dirty, falling apart parts of town. It was hot day so we stopped for a cold drink, which we brought back on the train. Speesh said, "You can't do that in DC!" We rode all the way back to the top of the hill, which was two stops past our starting point. Spesh had some doubt as to our ability to find the car again, but I was confident.

Haifa is a beautiful city; green and lush with spectacular views. It's also one of the hilliest places I've ever been. We found step-paths down the hill that were more direct than the winding streets. We walked down several hundred steps, which made my knee unhappy. I didn't mind so much, but the pain wasn't fun. I may have annoyed Spesh by moving so slowing, but walking down steps is one of the worst things for my knee. We also got more drinks along the way. It was a good way to see the city for sure.

We'd already decided to spend the night at the Kibbutz. I actually would have been happy to spend the whole day there, relaxing. Maybe sneak a little vacation into my vacation, but it was not to be. The next day, we had to go back to Tel Aviv so Spesh could run many errands. Oh well.

I would have fallen asleep on the drive from Haifa to the Kibbutz, but Spesh was tired too so I stayed awake and tried to talk to him. When we got back, I washed my tired feet and sat on the couch. Spesh's mom brought us watermelon and his dad asked incongruous questions. His sister was friendly and we had a long talk about politics. I like Spesh's family a lot and it's relaxing to be with them. The parents invited me to some event on the kibbutz, but Spesh declined for me, "Jamy is too tired." It was funny but true.

Dinner was good. Spesh's mom and dad had asked several times if I were a vegetarian but didn't quite seem to believe me when I said "no." They did believe it when they saw me eat the meatballs they served. Yum. Plus, there was cheese to put on them! Civilization indeed.

After dinner, the rest of the family left. Spesh and I hung around and watched a movie. Ah, how I love satellite tv on vacation! I slept ok but woke too early. This whole trip has been a sleep disaster. Oh well.

Grateful for: family.

Tel Aviv: 8/1/2007

Last day with family

On Sunday, I agreed to go with Dad to visit Yehuda and Avital in Kyrat Ata, a small town near Haifa. It's quite a long drive, but Dad wanted to see their place and, I suppose, pay a formal call. I didn't have anything better to do and I wanted to see their place too, so I went. B2 also agreed to come. His youngest daughter, Ahuva, had gone home with them on Saturday night, so we could also bring her home.

I woke up quite early, unfortunately, and decided to go to the nearby coffee shop and get some writing done. (I posted two entries that morning.) By happy chance, I picked up some free wifi in the neighborhood. I sat there for about an hour and a half.

When I got back to the place, Dad and B1 were gone. Dad was running errands and B1 went to Tel Aviv for the day to have some business meetings. Susan was still there and we chatted until she had to go meet a friend. Dad was supposed to come home in time to drive her--and it turns out they met on her way out. When Dad got back, we went to pick up B2. Ora and her new husband had already been by for breakfast and praying. For some reason, her new husband wanted to make the 8:30 minyan, and the nearest one was in her folks' neighborhood. I guess he's just that devout.

We said hello to Tikvah then headed out. The drive was long but we only took one wrong turn, due to B2's poor map reading. I took over navigating from the back seat and we made it the rest of the way with no problem. I recognized some of the drive because I'd been over most of it with Spesh last year.

We drove on highway "6," which is a private toll road. It's interesting for a few reasons. It runs through Arab lands but has no exits to Arab villages. In fact, it parallels the wall in some places. The real wall--there are watchtowers and everything. It also charges a toll by taking a picture of your license plate and mailing you a bill. It's expensive--about $10 each way, but much faster than the other options. Last, the northern most point of the road is where Spesh's kibbutz is. He avoids the road if possible but did use it to drive me to the airport last year. (This year we'll leave from Tel Aviv, so we won't face this moral quandary.)

B2's cell phone died on our way there, which meant that we wouldn't be able to call for directions. Luckily, B2 remembered enough to get us there and, with one question of pedestrians to confirm we were going in the right direction, we found the place.

The apartment pleasantly surprised me. It was neat as a pin, clean, and comfortable. Two bedrooms, large living/dining room and medium-sized kitchen. They seemed very happy to see us and Avital was more relaxed than I'd ever seen her. Dad wanted to get them something for the house and they discussed possibilities--a toaster oven, a dryer, a window a/c unit for one of the bedrooms…in the end, Yehuda said that Avital really wanted a camera. We left B2 with the baby and Dad, Yehuda, Avital, Ahuva and I piled in the car and drove to the nearest strip mall to check out the electronics store.

What I loved was the process by which we actually got the camera. First, Yehuda told the guy which camera they wanted. The guy gave him a little piece of paper. Dad took the paper and handed it to a woman sitting at a computer. She and four other female colleagues sat at similar computers all in a row. She took the paper, Dad paid, and she printed out two copies of a receipt on regular sized pieces of paper. Dad then took that paper to another counter and handed it to a guy. The guy went in the back and got the camera. He opened the box and showed the parts to Avital and explained what each of the cables was for. Then he asked her to sign--she deferred that task to Dad.

The only other system I've seen like this was in Russia when I traveled there with school in the last Soviet days. I'm almost certain Russians ran this store. My experience went something like this: I wanted to buy a pen. I stood at a glass-topped counter displaying pens. I pointed to the one I wanted. The clerk handed me a piece of paper. I took it to the cash register and paid. I got another piece of paper. I took it back to the counter and was handed the pen. I used that pen twice before it broke. All that for a pen that broke immediately and didn't even cost a dollar! Let's hope the camera fares better.

Also, frustratingly, the manual included with the camera was not in Hebrew. Dad and I noticed and Yehuda complained. The clerk said they'd get a manual from another store in a couple of days and they could come and pick it up.

When we got home, I gave Avital some tips for using the camera. Ahuva helped translate, but, to my surprise, Avital understood quite a lot of what I told her. She does have some English, but is very shy about using it. I was pleased to have actually had something like a real conversation with her. It helped that it was one-on-one and I spoke slowly.

On the drive home, Dad said he was concerned that Ahuva's English wasn't approving. He's been paying for lessons for the last year and a half and would like to see some progress. I actually think her English is stronger than the last time I saw her but Dad didn't agree. She was asleep for much of the drive but when she woke up, Dad asked her how much speaking she did during the lessons. She couldn't really answer but said they had conversations. I decided we'd have a conversation right then and I started asking her open-ended questions. B2 chimed in but he kept asking yes or no questions so I told him to stop.

Ahuva described her bus trip the night before, arriving in Kyrat Ata, and how she spent the morning there.

Jamy: When did you get up in the morning?
Ahuva: When the baby fell out of bed. He cried.
Jamy: What?
Ahuva: He was sleeping with Avital and fell out of bed!
Jamy: Did she wake up too?
Ahuva: Yes.
Jamy: Did he hit his head?
Ahuva: Yes, but he was ok.

We didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Dad retold the story several times and laughed.

The evening was another feast for the bride and groom. It was hot as anything making it hard to eat. It was also my last evening with the family. I was sad to say goodbye but also relieved to get back to the "real" world--or at least the world where I'm comfortable. And where I can wear short sleeved-shirts and slacks. Lord have mercy.

Grateful for: the secular world.

Tel Aviv: 8/1/2007

Busy Shabbat

• Slept as late as possible, around 10am.
• Put on the same outfit as the night before.
• Was grateful for borrowed pajamas--a very long short-sleeved nightgown.
• Made some instant coffee.
• Ran an errand with little boy, Yanky. He'd left the jacket for his child-sized suit in the Hall. I went to help him retrieve it. On the way back, he lead me through a shortcut. I motioned to my sandals as it to say, "I can't climb that hill of dirt and rocks." He encouraged me to try. I tried and when I succeeded, he clapped. Adorable! He might be the most responsible kid I've ever met--in the sense of trying to take care of other people.
• When I got back, my coffee was gone.
• Very soon, it was time to go back to the Hall for another meal.
• More toasts, more blessings. More men singing and dancing.
• Men are not allowed to hear women sing or see them dance. You can guess at the rational.
• Back to the house. Dad, Susan and Sam left.
• I stayed, lay down, read and became too tired to continue.
• Eventually I was joined in napping by two nieces. The AC was on, the blinds closed and we slept.
• I roused myself around 5:30 hoping to avoid that "groggy from napping too long" feeling. I was partially successful.
• Sat around with a bunch of Hebrew speakers and got more reading done.
• Snacked--crackers, cottage cheese.
• We were due back at the Hall at 7:30pm for another meal.
• This meal was provided by the families of the men in my brother's "Kollel."
• The food was good, but not as good as when my sister-in-law does the cooking.
• It was relatively light because the mid-day meal was huge.
• Also, our hosts decided it was necessary to put dividers between the men's side and the women's side of the room. Before, we just sat at different tables, this time we were at separate tables and had physical dividers. Charming.
• In conversation with one woman, I was complimented for coming so far for the wedding. I mentioned that I didn't go to my brother's (B2) wedding. I said I probably could have, that Dad would have paid for it if I'd wanted to go (I vaguely remember him offering). I was too young to afford it on my own then. But I didn't want to go--because of the division of the men and the women. I don't agree with it and I didn't want to be there. Talking to this woman, I said I wasn't sure if I would make the same decision again. But, writing now, I'm pretty sure I would. How awful it would have been for me, at age 13 or so to be at a wedding with no one I knew, forced to spend time with women who only (or mostly) spoke Hebrew? If the wedding happened after Dad and Susan were together, say when I was 14, I would have liked being forced to spend time with her even less than I do now. (I can't remember exactly how long ago B2 was married.) I know B1 went. But, B1 wouldn't go to B2's wedding because it was a "mixed-marriage"--a Jew (B1's wife) marrying a non-Jew (B1).
• I've asked a lot of questions about weddings this trip, but not to B2, rather to Dad and Susan and B1. They said, "Is there something you're not telling us?" Not at all, but the whole wedding frenzy raises these questions for me. If I marry a non-Jew, it will be a "mixed-marriage" and none of the Israeli family will come (even if they could afford the trip). I wonder, though, if I had a civil ceremony, could they come to that? But what if men and women dance together (the horror!), would they have to leave before it started? What if I played music that had a woman singing? This is what I think--assume, no matter what kind of wedding I have (if I ever get married), they won't come. The end.
• At the end of the final meal on Saturday, I made a point to say goodbye to the wife of the big deal Rabbi who is my brother's mentor. She said, "And, maybe next year, we can dance at your wedding!"
  
  I said, "Hashem willing!"
  
  Three wedding blessings in as many days. Maybe that'll do the trick.

Grateful for: blessings.

Tel Aviv: 7/31/07

Run down

• Slept until 10:30 am
• Sat around talking until noon.
• Showered.
• Got ride with Dad to a café.
• Sat with B1 and used the internet for a couple of hours.
• Dad ran all around town shopping for the family.
• Felt mildly guilty.
• After the coffee shop, B1 and I bought wine, ate falafel and had gelato.
• Taxi ride home with B1.
• During the ride we laughed about our extremely limited Hebrew. We couldn’t give basic instructions to the cab driver such as, "left," "right," "stop," or "here" (subsequently, I learned that "po" is "here") but we do have a great collection of random words: cookie, underpants, gum. Nevertheless, we arrived at our temporary home safely by 3pm.
• Dad arrived at 4pm.
• We left around 5:30, which was not in time to help very much.
• When we got to the homestead, there wasn't much to do but sit and watch.
• I changed into my "appropriate" clothing.
• Wearing tights in 95 degree heat is not recommended. I didn't do such a great packing job this time--I need more lightweight long-sleeved, high collared shirts.
• Ora joined us. She, two friends and two sisters sang the Shabbos prayers after everyone else left. I sat and listened as did Avital (my niece-in-law). I'm not sure why she didn't sing; probably didn't know the melodies since she was raised in the Yemeni culture. I didn't ask.
• As the singing wrapped up, they did a bit in English about finding husbands, singing each single girl's name in turn. I got a turn too.
• We walked down the block to the hall for the first formal "sheva bracha." That means seven blessings. A week of these dinners follows every wedding. This year, I'll attend three. That's more than enough.
• Men and women were seated at two long separate tables, parallel to each other.
• Most of the toasts were translated into English, either by the speaker or by B2. Apparently, this was at Ora's request.
• One of the toast's was given by the rabbi who is the head of B2's yeshiva. Whenever this man spoke, B2 stared at him intently. Later, I said to B1, "Did you see how B2 looked a that rabbi?" B1 said, "With complete devotion." I said, "True love." The rebbe is American by birth and runs a Yeshiva in Baltimore. His English is perfect and he translated for himself. He gave three speeches over the course of the weekend, but I'll just repeat one.

  Aristotle said there are three kinds of love--three reasons why we love someone else. The first reason is if they do things for us, if they help us. The second reason is if they make us happy, if they amuse us. The third reason is if they have qualities that we admire. There is also a fourth kind of love, a kind of love that has no reason. This is the most lasting kind. The other kinds can end--if the person changes and is no longer admirable or stops doing for us, we can stop loving them. But if we love someone for no reason, only because they love us, that love will last a lifetime.
  
  At the shevas brachas, we praise the hossen (groom) and the kallah (bride). Why do we do this? The reason is to help them love each other by telling them about their admirable qualities. And to inspire their love for each other. If they begin to love each other for no reason, their love will be the most lasting kind.

• Do you buy it? I'm not sure either, but it was interesting.
• Later, I learned that B1 is not considered Jewish by this crowd. (He converted, but it wasn't sufficient.)
• Having a "Shabbos goy" around came in handy a few times. You can ask a goy to do things that you can't ask a Jew to do. That is, they could ask B1, or at least hint, that he should do something forbidden, like put a pot on the stove. They wouldn't ask me to do such things or even hint that I should. Oy.
• I stuck around the hall after dinner, trying to help with the clean up. I was told to go home several times by Estee, Ora's friend. I was mildly annoyed--doesn't she know I'm here to help? I ignored her.
• I was up late again, until around 1:30am.
• Falling asleep was a challenge due to hard bed and being on the ground floor of a bunk bed, which moved every time my upstairs niece moved. I did fall asleep eventually, but it was not a restful night. Luckily, the next day was.

Grateful for: a full day.

The big day

I tried not to spend too much time thinking about what the wedding, the marriage, meant to my niece. She's marrying a guy she's met maybe five or six times and who she hasn't seen for two full weeks prior to the wedding. What the? So crazy. But, not wrong. Well, it's wrong too, but not necessarily worse, or at least that's what I said to B1 after we got home. He talked about trying not to judge. I said it was ok to judge and I could even tell him what was wrong with their way (for one, it's horribly oppressive to women), but it's not necessarily worse, mostly different. Their marriages are no more or less unhappy than ours--they just happen a lot earlier and involve many more children. Better or worse? Who says? I don't have a problem with arranged marriage outside of a strict patriarchy, but they don't tend to exist otherwise. (Orthodox Judaism is an extremely strict patriarchy.) I argued that when the economic power or women increases, marriage loses its (traditional) meaning. B1 raised the point that most of the women in B2's world work, because the men sit and study torah all day. I said the men still had the decision making power. We tossed that one back and forth with no resolution.

The day of the wedding was crazy, as expected. I was late to my hair appointment, but the scheduled was off by just a little (as expected). The oldest girls, Avital (niece-in-law), and Tikvah (sister-in-law) took turns getting their make-up done. The make-up was applied with a very heavy hand, as though they were going on the stage rather than preparing to dance frantically all night. Such make-up is good for photos but not much else. I declined the make-up.

A close friend loaned me a necklace since I forgot to pack any jewelry. People ran in and out of the house getting things and bringing things. Neighbor girls festooned the entrance to the house with ribbons and waited for the bride to appear. I drove Adina down the block to pick up her dress, which was being altered. I drove B2 to Ora's so he could put up the mezzuzot. He forgot the key. I drove home, got the key, drove back to Ora's, getting grumpier all the time in the 95 degree heat. No time was left for mezzuzot--we stopped by again on the way to the hall.

I tried to get Spesh to come, but he refused on the grounds that the hall was in a settlement. The real reason, I think, is that he's shy. Plus, this kind of event isn't social for folks like us who are not part of the community. My business there is purely symbolic. But it's important to me, so I do it. It's part of my "try to make everyone happy" philosophy. Right. It means something to the family that I'm there, so I'm there. That's the best I can do. It's moderately selfless, since none of them will come to any wedding of mine, at least if I marry a non-Jew. I'm doing for them with no expectation that they'll do for me. That's ok. I can feel morally superior.

Everyone fully dressed was quite impressive. The sisters and their sister-in-law all wore dresses made from the same material, but in different designs. My sister-in-law, Tikvah, had designed the dresses (they hired a seamstress to sew them). They were frothy prom-like confections, but cute enough. Oh, and green, "apple green," according to Ahuva, the youngest.

I drove to the wedding with Dad, B2 and B1. It was longer than usual due to an informal checkpoint, which we were waved through. We still arrived in plenty of time to greet the guests. I got a lot of mazel tov and many chances to practice my one line of Hebrew, "Ani doda shel Ora." "I am Ora's aunt." Awesome!

The wedding was much like Yehuda's, but a little calmer. It was less crowded and there was more time to eat. The music was loud and I danced quite a bit. I mostly observed, took pictures and played with little kids. Pretty much like any wedding I attend. I had a good time, but was never fully part of things. But how could I be? I did get a blessing from the bride. She was handing out challah, after the ceremony and the required hour in seclusion with the new husband. I went up to get my piece. Ora asked me, "Do you want to get a husband?"

I said, "Yes."

She said, "Then I will make you a blessing." She put her free hand on my shoulder and said something about finding a husband easily and him being the right one. I thanked her and gave her a big hug and kiss. Hey, who knows, maybe this is what I've been waiting for. Um, maybe not, but it was very sweet.

The real dancing started some time after my blessing. It was finished by 12:30, but we didn't leave until 1:30am because of another round of formal picture taking after the guests left. We had pictures before the wedding, but without the groom. After, the groom was included. The after pictures won't be so great since everyone was exhausted and sweaty. The make-up was clinging to faces, but just barely.

Overall, a good time. Yet, it confirms more than ever that my secret wedding fantasy is to elope. I'm a rebel.

Grateful for: my blessing.

Family time

On Wednesday, I awoke still tired. I moved slowly but made myself get up and get ready. It was impossible to sleep due to loud construction noise--an elevator was being installed in our building. Susan, fleeing the noise, walked five minutes to the closest coffee shop. I followed a few minutes later. Within the hour, Dad joined us and we planned our day.

I'd hoped to get on the internet, but that was not to be. Dad had volunteered himself as chauffeur for the day for the bride, Ora and I said I'd go along with him. We went back to the apartment, gathered our stuff, dropped Susan off at a coffee shop and met Ora and the youngest girl, Ahuva. The three of us inched through dense Jerusalem traffic to take Ora to one of the main market streets. Dad pulled over and Ora hopped out. He perched there, illegally, for almost an hour as Ora visited several shops and came back to deposit her purchases in the car. I joked that we were a motorized shopping cart.

Unfortunately, I don't know exactly where we were, except that it was a religious area. I was the only woman on the street wearing slacks and all the men were wearing yarmulkes, even those dressed in a t-shirt and jeans. In contrast, most of the men in the neighborhood where we're staying don't wear yarmulkes and the women are divided evenly between wearing skirts and slacks. Anything goes!

Ahuva and I were bored and I pulled out the computer to see if she wanted to play a game (all I have is solitaire but she likes "spit" so I thought she might be interested). I found a wi-fi signal and took a minute to check email. I told Dad and he asked to use the computer to check on B2's (Israeli brother) bank account. B2 doesn't have a computer and doesn't believe in using the internet, but it's hard to do business any other way these days. He'd asked Dad to check something for him. I gave Dad the computer and got out of the car. Ahuva and I went in search of soda.

After errands were complete, we went for lunch at "the best falafel shop in Jerusalem." It was ok, but the best thing was some tasty sweet frozen coffee from a machine.

The next stop was Ora's new apartment. She and the family have been stocking for the last few weeks. It has a bed, dining room table and chairs, comfortable chairs, an oven and a full kitchen. The apartment is only about a 20-minute walk from her parent's place, which is normal and makes everyone happy. The floor plan of the place is odd because it used to be part of a larger unit. They're renting for now, which is for the best. The tiny rooms and peculiar kitchen--the fridge is across the room from the rest of the kitchen and the oven is in another room all together--make it a poor long term choice. For a year or so, though, it's fine.

After we dropped off some things at the new place, we drove back to B2's. Dad took Ora somewhere else but I elected to stick around. Adina was there and I figured I could help with some household tasks. I did help, but mostly we just hung out and talked. I had the computer and Adina wanted to see what programs it had. She's studying computer programming and thought she might be able to use my machine to write Java, but no such luck. She's decided to take the teaching route instead of get a programming job, which is typical for religious girls. Teaching is more compatible with the fertility imperative.

After giving up on the computer, Adina pulled out a jigsaw puzzle she was assembling as a present for Ora. We worked on it for the next couple of hours, on and off, with help from Ora's friend Estee, in town for the wedding. Adina also had to get potatoes ready for dinner. I helped a little, but it wasn't necessary.

The rest of the evening was spent waiting for people to arrive. First, Dad, Susan and B1. Then, eventually, Yehuda (oldest nephew) his wife, Avital, and the baby. A beautiful baby, indeed, who was fawned over by everyone, though the fawning was modest by American standards. Still, I'm not worried about this baby feeling unloved.

Dinner was late, around 9pm, and meager by Israeli standards, but no one went away hungry. B2 attempted some planning for the next day--which was the big day--but was not very successful. Tikvah had a schedule for every moment and let me know I had a hair appointment (with her) for 11am. That's all I needed to know.

We were home by midnight.

Grateful for: flexibility.

Tel Aviv to Jerusalem

I arrived safely in Tel Aviv. Spesh was waiting for me right outside of customs. He stood so it was easy to see him. I was engulfed in a sea of Puerto Rican tourists as I approached him. We cracked up and I gave him an awkward little half hug.

He drove me to his place in Jaffa, which is a town directly south of Tel Aviv. I lay down on his small sofa and put my feet up. Spesh tried to round up some friends to come over for dinner. After a little relaxing, we went for a walk to pick up a few things because he planned to cook.

When we got back, his friend, Rona, came over. Spesh started making dinner. Rona talked to him while I checked my email. (No wifi, but Spesh is online 24-7). I went to the kitchen and helped cook rice and chop vegetables. It was a tofu plus veggie fry-up. Spesh started to tell me how wrong Rona was about some political issue and I said, "Her? You mean the woman who is here now?" He was surprised because he thought she'd left. And she had--but without saying goodbye to me. Odd. Or not. What do I know?

Spesh was a little unnerved because he didn't want her to overhear what he was saying. This part wasn't so bad, "We used to fight like that--until you grew out of it."

I laughed and said, "Yes, you noticed that we don't do that anymore."

"You realize I just insulted you be saying that we don't fight because you grew up."

I kept laughing and said, "Yeah, which means that you didn't grow up. You're just as immature as ever!"

Spesh chuckled but wasn't entirely pleased with my take. Perhaps he misses the fighting. (Aside: when I related this conversation to my stepmother, Susan, see was outraged and astonished that we're still friends. I told her, "I made a decision a long time ago to stop fighting with Spesh since I didn't enjoy it. And I just stopped." But Spesh met me halfway or we'd still be fighting. We cooperated.)

We got to cooking. Rona was going to come back later with Ahmed--an 11-year-old son of a friend. Spesh and I went ahead and ate and Rona came back around 9pm with Ahmed. A slight problem was that he only spoke Arabic. Rona mostly talked to him, Spesh a little and me, well, I just smiled.

Earlier, Spesh had asked me, what you do with an 11-year-old kid? I suggested the movies, but that's my default for everyone. Spesh thought that was a good idea and had mentioned it to Rona on her first visit.

When Rona came back with Ahmed, they said they were going to the movies. Spesh said, "Wanna go? I'll make your bed and we'll be home later."

"What? You're going off to the movies without me? No, I'm coming."

Spesh looked shocked. "I thought you were tired. I asked you to come but I was joking."

"I'm tired but so what? You're not going off and leaving me here all alone! Maybe I'll fall asleep in the movie, but I'm going. It was my idea!" Of course it wasn't my idea to take an 11-year-old out at 9:30 at night. (Note: the 11-year-old turned out to be 14, so keeping him out late wasn't so bad.)

We hopped in the (borrowed) car and drove to the movie district. But everything was closed, due to a big deal Jewish holiday, Tishah ba'Av. I said, "I think it's a holiday today--you know, the one about the destruction of the Temple?" I only knew about it because Mom had told me right before I left (I've never celebrated it--it's one of many the Reform movement dropped). I said, "It's funny that you needed me here to tell you it was Tishah ba'Av!"

"Oh, we would have figured it out. It's probably in the paper."

"Okaaay." In true Spesh fashion, the next day, he told the story of our failed attempt to see a movie in these words, "…and Jamy had to tell us it was Tishah ba'Av!"

So, no movies for us. We went to the beach instead. We had a hard time parking, so Rona, Ahmed and I left Spesh to drive around and we walked down the beach. We sat at an informal but pricey café--chairs right in the sand and tall, red triangular lights-- that from a distance looked like red sails. When Spesh caught up with us, he observed, "Everyone here is on a date."

I said, "Jealous?"

It was so pleasant that we didn't want to leave. Spesh said, "I don't know why I don't come to the beach more often." I was falling asleep in my chair so we did leave and I'd say we got home around 11:30pm. I slept hard until noisy construction / garbage collection woke me around 6:30. I managed to go back to sleep for another couple of hours. It was physically hard to lift myself out of bed even though I was too awake to go back to sleep. When I got up, Spesh was on the computer, just as he had been when I fell asleep. He made some tea and I sat and drank it. First I sat on the sofa, then I lay down on the sofa and before I knew it, I was asleep again, but only for about an hour. Spesh made us some breakfast while I took a shower. Breakfast: bread (baguette), super rich yogurt (27% fat!), olives and tomatoes in olive oil. Yum.

We went out around noon in a misguided attempt to renew Spesh's Canadian passport. Our mission was aborted because we didn't have the proper paperwork. Instead, we parked and walked to a coffee shop. I'd mentioned that coffee was a good idea. I was feeling tingly and dreamy and a good shot of caffeine was on order.

We walked through a part of Tel Aviv I remembered from my last visit. Spesh said, "This is one of my favorite parts of town." We sat in a corner window of a café. He said, "Do you like it?"

I said, "I love it. I can see the whole world from here." One by one, Spesh's friends came by. We were five at a table of four in the end. By the way, all of Spesh's friends I've met so far are women. I mentioned that to him over breakfast. "Why don't you have any guy friends?"

"Why? Women are more beautiful, more social, more fun to be with."

"Heh. Nice."

One of the women in the café was Adar, his most recent ex. She was friendly towards me and it was nice to see a familiar face. They were all talking politics and she was the only one who apologized, though I didn't mind at all. She made the unfortunate suggestion that they should do their business in Hebrew. I said, "Oh no, that would be much worse."

Spesh said, "No, Jamy should listen, she can help." I couldn’t, but appreciated the thought.

Just before 2pm it was time to go meet Gal, another friend, for lunch--again, someone who I met last year. I was happy to see her too. I think I talked rather too much at lunch about not very important things (professional vs. college sports, US housing segregation), but Gal asked me questions and got me going. I guess she knows the trick to making friends: asking questions.

After a lunch of hummus--an entire plateful each--we went back to Spesh's with just enough time to get ready to catch a bus to Jerusalem. The plan was to go to a demonstration in the center of town for housing rights. After, I would catch a taxi to my brother's house, where Dad and Susan were having dinner. (The Israeli family was fasting for Tisha ba'Av, this was their break-the-fast meal.)

The demo was like every other demo I've ever been to, in a good way. Spesh pulled my rolling suitcase (the only inconvenience of our plan) and I took pictures. He mingled around and paid a little less attention to me than I would have liked. It was an interesting and motley coalition, which Spesh loved.

Spesh pointed a guy out to me who was wearing a t-shirt with a picture of Stalin. I said, "Is he for real?"

"I think so." We shook our heads and laughed. The Stalinist was handing out his manifesto on single sheets of paper. I took one but since it was all Hebrew (except the email address), I couldn't read it.

We rallied, we marched, and when we arrived at the Prime Minister's house, Spesh got me a taxi and I went off to Orthodox world.

The taxi took me to the right street but I wandered a little before finding the right door. When I did, everyone, with the exception of my brother, B2, was sitting at the table eating dinner. (B1 is coming but he won't arrive until Wednesday.) I was greeted warmly and gave a hug and kiss to everyone. I sat down and started to eat. I realized, I hadn't had a bite since lunch at 2pm--it was now 8:30. That's a long time for me to go without even a snack. Yet, I wasn't starving--I can't explain it.

I sat near Adina, the second oldest girl, and the next in line to get married. Is it wrong to say I have a favorite? Probably. I'll say this, I have the most interesting conversations with Adina, though I like all the kids equally. It's Adina towards whom I feel the most sympathy. She's quiet, smart, but has her eyes wide open. She is curious in a unobtrusive way about my life. I was telling stories (too many stories!) about Spesh and I mentioned that he's published a paper and that he gave me a copy. Adina wanted to see it. Then she observed, "He must be very smart." I agreed.

The rest of the evening was the normal running around, eating and muddled attempts to make plans for the next day. After a long evening, Dad drove us to our place in Jerusalem. It's nice but not as nice as the last place. It'll do. I had a hard time falling asleep--the second day was harder--but I felt better adjusted.

Grateful for: friends and family.

Second leg

It's officially Monday and I'm in Heathrow, Terminal 4. Arrived safely after one of the bumpiest descents I've experienced in years. I'm completely out of it--awake though hazy at 2:41am my time. Not sure if I should have coffee, probably not, had some bitterly strong tea on the plane. Maybe I can nap a little on the next leg, which is only an hour shorter than the first leg.

I would also like to impress you with my packing prowess. I fit everything into a medium-sized rolling bag, which I checked, and a small backpack. The laptop just squeezes into the backpack, with room for a book, two magazines, an apple, granola bar, extra shirt, undies, chapstick, mini-hairbrush, and ipod.

I'm waiting for a gate. My flight is on the board but I don't know where I should go. I'm surrounded by a lot of non-tempting duty-free shopping. Following my habit, I ate everything they gave me on the plane. Well, I didn't eat the muffin or drink the oj that composed part of the breakfast. I did eat the yogurt.

Ah, how were the accommodations? Adequate. The meal was tasty--but I actually like airplane food. I like the presentation--all the little compartments. This food was decent and fresh. And the dessert was edible. Plus, along with the official cake, they gave you a mini-candy bar. That is my snack right now.

I was seated in the very back of the plane in the "plebian" section. We walked through first class, business class, which had deluxe sleeping "pods," and something slightly better than coach-class (seats with footrests!) before getting to where I sat. I paid $1,500 for the worst section on the plane. Whatever. I've never seen so many sections before. Even so, plebe-class was reasonably comfortable and I had my own little movie screen and 12 channels to choose from. The usual crappy movie selections, but, again, adequate.

I have my gate now. I'm going to go sit there.

Grateful for: a safe trip.

First leg

I'm surprised to find myself excited about this trip. I'm not stressed about the family stuff and I'm looking forward to seeing Spesh. I'm even looking forward to the flight--I have this crazy idea that the carrier, British Airways, has superior service. We'll see about that. It's still true that international flights have more amenities than no-frills domestic services. So, while I'm essentially dressed in my pjs, I'm looking forward to "continental" service (hmm…European service might be more accurate). I am wondering if they will feed us dinner, but I'm sure they will. I have a granola bar and an apple just in case. We better get at least one meal, or I'll be very hungry!

I waited to pack until Sunday. I didn't even lay out my clothes until noon. I made some coffee and an omelet and watched a movie. I was very relaxed. I slept later than usual due to Tabitha's absence. I took her to stay with DrJ on Saturday morning. While I missed Tabby and kept looking around for her it was good to have an undisturbed sleep. I stayed in all day and made sure the house was in order, garbage emptied, and watched tv. I also knit, did my shoulder exercises and took a shower.

TR offered to drive me to the airport, which was much appreciated. Getting to Dulles is such a drag. We hit a little traffic, but made the journey in less than an hour. Checking in and getting through security only took thirty minutes. Hopefully, the flight will leave on time too. I just have a little waiting to do. (I'm writing this in the airport.)

I told TR that fussing and complaining a bit works for me. I get it out of my system and then I can enjoy myself. I'm feeling like that might truly be the case for this trip. I'm ready to just roll along and enjoy whatever comes my way. People (Mom) have suggested I do certain things while I'm in Israel, but I don't want to go out of my way. I'm there for two reasons: family and Spesh. Touring takes a backseat. When I go for the next wedding, in a year or so, I promise that I'll do some other traveling in conjunction with this trip. Either go to Egypt and some of the surrounding Middle Eastern countries or spend a week in Europe (Paris? Warsaw? KJ, ready for our Eastern European tour next year?) on the way back.

Time to board. Later.

Grateful for: travel.

Ouch

From a website that shall remain unnamed:

We're sorry, the price of this flight has changed from $1,409.33 to $2,252.33.

Grateful for: spending less than $2,000 for a plane ticket to Israel.

More pre-wedding

The day of the wedding, Dad and I left the house around 8:45am. Before that, I'd roused myself and walked out to find a cup of coffee. Ever since the first time I went abroad, I like to get up early in the morning and go find coffee by myself. I did it the first time I went to Florence (which was to visit Dad when he lived there for a year), and I did it here in Israel now that I had the chance. I walked down the main street in our neighborhood and passed two or three cafés before stopping at one. I ordered a cappuccino that turned out not to really be a cappuccino, but it was acceptable. I walked home, carrying it, and was way ahead of Dad and ready to go when he was.

Where were we going so early in the morning? I was going to meet my sister-in-law, (let's just give her a name, shall we?) Tikvah, and my nieces, so we could get pretty. They were planning to get rather prettier than I, getting hair, nails and faces thoroughly done. My plan was to have a manicure and do my own, very minimal, make up later on.

Dad was going to pick up B2 and the groom, Yehuda, to make a visit to the cemetery. Actually to two cemeteries--that of his grandmother, my father's first wife, and to the burial place of his mother's parents. Apparently that is the custom on the day of the wedding.

A side note--every wedding I've ever attended where there was a dead parent, that person was almost tangibly present. I can understand this practice.

Back to the frivolity--I'm not much of one for manicures, but I've had a few in my life. The last one was for a friend's wedding at least five years ago. It was a painful experiences because the lady cut my cuticles too close and made three fingers bleed. I haven't been back since. I bite my nails, which are soft to begin with, so a manicure is not a high priority.

But, for purposes of family bonding and vanity, I said sure. Susan (stepmother) almost said yes, but she'd just had her nails done back in the States, so what was the point?

It was ok--only one cuticle bled. The horrifying part was the extremely unhygienic conditions under which the manicure was performed. Things were re-used that should not have been, the nail debris was not contained, the clippers were not sterilized. I'm telling you, we don't know how clean we have it in America.

Niece #2, who is the sweetest, kindest girl in the world, asked if I was having my hair done. I said I'd do something but I wasn't sure what. She said, "Maybe my mother will do something for you." You know the end to the that story!

I watched Niece #3 (incorrectly labeled in that post) have her hair turned into a frothy, Barbie-like confection. Tikvah could tell it wasn't the right thing for me. She asked if I wanted her to do something. I said, "Maybe." Then I said, "I'd love it if you could do something for me." And I sat myself down in her chair.

And what did she do? Something special that didn't hurt and was totally "me." Fancy but not ostentatious. She used a couple dozen bobby pins, a lot of hair spray and her imagination--and knowledge of my tastes--and in about 15 minutes she fixed me up just right. She worked very hard that daty--fixing my hair and that of her four daughters--but she remained calm and cheerful through it all.

After they finished up with the polishings, waxings and blow-dryings we all headed to our respective homes.

I took a cab back to the apartment. The cab driver spoke no English and did not understand my pronunciation of the street where I'm staying. I still can't say it correctly. I did convey the name of the main street that insects my street, so we got going. It was a situation where I understood most of what he was saying--not he actual words but what he would have been saying in that situation. For example, "On which end of the main street is your street located?" I couldn't have answered that one anyway. Or, "Will you know it when we get there?" The answer to that was, "yes, " but when did he ask it? I said, "lo" (no) and "kin" (yes) and "beseder" (all right) a lot. And "todah" (thanks). And somehow we got there, when he finally correctly interpreted my mispronunciation.

The plan was to meet Dad and Susan back at the apartment and be ready to go by 4:00pm. We left around 4:15pm.

We arrived at B2's place to pick him for the drive to the wedding. My dress is sleeveless, which is why I have the white cardigan draped over it in the picture, so I would be properly covered. When B2 sees me he says, "You're going to be covered?"

I said, "Yes, that's why I have this sweater." It had been a little warm in the car on the way to his place, so I wasn't fully buttoned up. I started buttoning.

B2 said, "I can loan you a shirt if you need it." He smirked a little and walked into the hallway.

I said, "But that would be man's clothing--and it would be improper to wear men's clothing!"

From the other room, B2 said, "Oh, you remember--very good!"

I muttered, "Hoisted on his own petard." The triumphs with B2 are small and one must savor them.

He did approve of my outfit when it was fully buttoned up. Not as attractive as the dress without the sweater, but not bad. It wasn't like I was going to meet any boys that night.

On the drive to the hall, B2 made a joke about passing a Coke-a-Cola bottling plant. "When you start to feel thirsty, you'll know it's coming up." I said it wasn't subliminal if you could see it. Then B2 told a story about reading one of the Curious George books to the kids when they were little, "I didn't remember the story but all of a sudden I got the taste of spaghetti in my mouth. Then I turned the page...and there was Curious George in a bowl of spaghetti!" We all laughed. B2 is very sweet.

When we arrived at the hall at 6:30pm, the groom, Yehuda, didn't want to go straight in. Perhaps first I should tell you the plan for the wedding:

7:00pm--Official start time. Appetizers available, guests start to arrive.
7:45pm--Rabbi arrives.
8:00pm--Wedding ceremony under the Hupa.
8:30pm--Dancing, eating, dancing, eating--until midnight or so.

My sister-in-law and nieces planned to arrive early, around 6pm, to take some pictures. The groom wanted to arrive no earlier than 7pm.

B2's plan was for Dad (aka Grandpa) to take Yehuda off somewhere to hang out until he was ready to be officially present. He said he didn't want to be there until 7pm.

That is pretty much what happened.

Part II tomorrow....

Grateful for: infection-free maincures.
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