And I thought it was all about the constituents...

Once again, Prime Minister Olmert has proven that he cares more about himself and his own PR than about Israeli citizens. As qassam rockets continue to fall in Sderot and Israelis continue to get killed (yesterday's innocent victim was the father of a young girl, and husband of a woman in her sixth month of pregnancy), Olmert has stated that he sees no reason why citizens should leave town, despite "understanding" that life there is "difficult" these days. As prime minister, Olmert should be more concerned with the wellbeing of his constituents than with how it will look if there is a massive evacuation of the town and the surrounding areas. No one should be forced to stay in a bad neighborhood just to make someone else look good.

During the past few weeks, the prime minister has made numerous requests and demands that have repeatedly caused Israeli citizens to question his motives and loyalties, which, if said requests and demands are anything to go by, are to himself above all others. In a replay of last summer's actions, the government's inaction with regard to the beleaguered citizens of Sderot has resulted in a war of words with wealthy businessman (and political newcomer, which comes as no surprise, given the transparent nature of his generosity as he successfully buys respectability and entrance into the hearts and minds of so many Israelis) Arkady Gaydamak, who has once again managed to one-up the government and provide relief for the people of Sderot, despite the government's attempts to thwart him at every turn. Gaydamak has erected a tent camp in Tel Aviv's Hayarkon Park, after officials in Jerusalem denied his request to the erect the camp in the city's Sacher Park, apparently at the behest of officials in the Prime Minister's Office. Attempts to persuade officials in Tel Aviv to act in a similar manner were fortunately rebuffed. As a result, Gaydamak has traded barbs with various government officials, who clearly do not like the idea of the government being upstaged by a private individual, especially one who is perceived as a political threat.

It's almost frightening to witness the way the government is handling the Sderot crisis, allowing the citizens to be innocent pawns in their PR game. Prime Minister Olmert and his ilk have no right whatsoever to demand that these individuals remain on the front lines, while at the same time doing nothing to alleviate the situation on the ground. Most if not all of the public bomb shelters in the city are unusable, especially for extended periods of time, and the government has not followed through on promises to make the necessary repairs and modifications. An organization from the US has made a substantial donation earmarked especially for the shelters, but for some reason, the prime minister has asked that the money go only towards fixing private shelters. Despite the fact that rockets have been slamming into Sderot and the surrounding areas for several years now, the government has chosen the path of lip-service over actual activity. They are hardly in a position to cry foul when Mr. Gaydamak steps in and offers to finance the repairs and the building of new shelters himself, though this is indeed what they have done. Frankly, until the government proves that it's capable of making the necessary changes on the ground, they are hardly in a position to dictate how the citizens of Sderot should live their lives under fire. Unless the prime minister is willing to move to an unprotected home in Sderot and spend his days and nights there, his calls to stay ring hollow. Clearly, it is more important for him to look good and save face rather than to go the humane route and address the needs of the citizens. Clearly, he would rather see nothing done to help these individuals than see a private citizen step up and do what the government will not. The pattern was established last summer, when Olmert admonished the citizens of the north for wanting to leave when rockets were falling, and the same is true today in the south. The prime minister has proved once again that his government is incapable of meeting the needs of its constituents, especially in times of crisis. The majority of Israelis anxiously await its demise, and though we want to believe that the next government has to be better than the current one, which will surely go down as one of the worst in history, the current political situation leaves little room for optimism, and the best we can hope for is a government that will not be as bad as that of Olmert and company. Personally, I would like to think that there is nowhere to go but up.

80s Music Video Sunday #24

Well gag me with a spoon! It's 80s Music Video Sunday, and if that's not, like, totally gnarly, well frankly, I don't know what is! Who can forget the invasion of the Valley Girls, introducing a variety of totally rad new words into the American lexicon. Like, for sure, we all got into it. I mean, back in those days, didn't we all want to be, like, totally bitchin'? Didn't we all just totally want to, like, hang out at the Galleria? Like, I'm so sure!

The whole valley girl era was, like, oh my god, totally tripendicular, and based on the lifestyle of rich girls living in California's San Fernando Valley. We like, totally used Moon Unit Zappa's hit single "Valley Girl" as our guide to all things valley. And for sure, Hollywood also, like, totally cashed in, releasing one of the most rad flicks ever, the totally awesome "Valley Girl", starring the way bitchin' Nicholas Cage. Like, oh my god! What a dude he was in that movie! He was like, totally gnarly, not like that Tommy dude, who was just grody to the max! I mean, like, barf me out the door! And duh, how could you make such a totally tubular movie like that without a bitchin' soundtrack, you know? I like, totally loved the music, like for sure! Totally rad. Totally.

So, duh, today's featured tune is like, totally from that movie. It's totally bitchin' and way awesome, I'm sure!



Melt with You
Modern English

Moving forward using all my breath
Making love to you was never second best
I saw the world thrashing all around your face
Never really knowing it was always mesh and lace

I'll stop the world and melt with you
You've seen the difference and it's getting better all the time
There's nothing you and I won't do
I'll stop the world and melt with you
(You should know better?)
Dream of better lives the kind which never hate
(You should see why)
Dropped in the state of imaginary grace
(You should know better?)
I made a pilgrimage to save this human race
(You should see why)
Never comprehending the race was long, long lost
(I'll stop the world)
I'll stop the world and melt with you
(I'll stop the world)
You've seen the difference and it's getting better all the time
(Let's stop the world)
There's nothing you and I won't do
(Let's stop the world)
I'll stop the world and melt with you

The future's open wide

(Let's stop the world)
I'll stop the world and melt with you
(Let's stop the world)
I've seen some changes but it's getting better all the time
(Let's stop the world)
There's nothing you and I won't do
(Let's stop the world)
I'll stop the world and melt with you

The future's open wide

hmmm hmmm hmmm
hmmm hmmm hmmm hmmm
hmmm hmmm hmmm
hmmm hmmm hmmm hmmm

I'll stop the world and melt with you
(Let's stop the world)
You've seen the difference and it's getting better all the time
(Let's stop the world)
There's nothing you and I won't do
(Let's stop the world)
I'll stop the world and melt with you
(Let's stop the world)
I'll stop the world and melt with you
(Let's stop the world)
I'll stop the world and melt with you
(Let's stop the world)

Boycotts, Double Standards, and Plain Old Israel-Bashing

I'm having trouble organizing my thoughts these days. I am alternatively feeling rage and frustration, and often, exhaustion. I am sick to death of the ignorance and the double standards when it comes to Israel, no matter what the platform. Palestinian President Mahmoud Abbas has called for international intervention to stop Israel from attacking Hamas targets in Gaza (and also called for an end to the rocket attacks on Israel, but strangely, this call came only after Israel began to respond...). The world is up in arms because Israel has finally opted to pull their hands out of their asses, remove the covers from the binoculars and start responding to the never-ending volley of qassam rockets slamming into Sderot and the surrounding areas.

I have always shown sympathy for the Palestinian plight (and have been repeatedly condemned for my views by a charming array of individuals), and while I still support a two-state solution, at the moment, I simply cannot bother to muster up sympathy for a people whose government is more interested in perpetuating both internecine and cross-border violence than in trying to improve the lives of its people – people whose lives desperately need improving. It is absolutely pathetic that the most effective tool the Palestinian government has to unite its people is to increase the frequency of rockets fired into Israel, pushing and pushing until we are forced to respond, then crying foul when we follow the utterly predictable script. Despite what the world believes (and grossly incompetent Israeli government aside), there is nothing that regular Israelis want more than to lead a peaceful existence. We do not want to be goaded into battle; we do not want to be forced to respond. Clearly, we are not afraid to do so, and unfortunately for the other side (or perhaps fortunately, depending on one's opinion), we are better equipped, which means that we will most certainly inflict greater damage. Perhaps the world would be happier if we were also to fire crudely made rockets in order to level the playing field. Somehow, I don't think so. We have always been, and will undoubtedly always be considered the bad guys here, as long as Israel lifts a finger to protect its citizens, as long as Israel does anything other than meekly sit back and do nothing, taking hit after hit and being expected to accept it all because the Palestinians are oppressed and therefore not responsible for the violent actions of their militants and extremists, who are supported by their government.

No matter what happens, no matter who starts it, it is somehow always Israel's fault. Rockets are raining down on Sderot and British unions are practically lining up to boycott Israel. Palestinians killing each other in the streets of Gaza? It's because of the occupation, of course. I've even heard that people are claiming it's the Israelis who are pushing the spotlight on Darfur in order to shift attention away from its own problems, and frankly, I don't know if that makes me want to laugh or cry.

When the double standards exist in an organization that purports to be a platform for voices from around the world, you can't help but reach the conclusion that perhaps there really is no hope. When such an organization allows its writers and editors to shift the focus from events in their own countries to spotlight condemnations of Israel, when it prefers to ignore serious issues raised by Israeli members of its community, when they demonstrate time and time again that they are apparently uninterested in ensuring that Israel doesn't become the resident whipping boy, when they make mistakes regarding Israeli contributions, and then try to rectify the mistakes in the most absurd way imaginable… I wait with anxious anticipation whenever I pay a visit to the website, wondering how the latest attack on Israel will manifest itself (today's was a comment that referred to "Zionuts", which somehow made it through comment moderation; I won't even summarize the entry that generated such a comment, as I found it too unbelievable that it was actually given the spotlight). Clearly, they just don't get it, nor do they even really want to. As with the rest of the world, they only like us when we accept our beatings quietly, without a fuss. If we so much as raise our voices, it is we who become the problem, we who become the troublemakers, simply by standing up for ourselves.

Apparently, it would seem that I'm not too impressed by the world these days, either real or virtual. I have no patience for childish boycotts and double standards, no energy to deal with the intentionally ignorant. My mouth is agape as I witness anti-Semitism masked as anti-Israel sentiment enter the realm of acceptable discourse, or read about individuals who profess to be pro-Palestinian peace activists, whose ideas of peace involve dismantling the state of Israel while magnanimously harboring no ill will against Jews. The world has gone utterly mad, and I can't help but wonder what kind of earth-shattering catastrophe will be required to wake people up. And then I wonder if they even want to.

Cows and cheesecake

I was lactose-intolerant for approximately ten years, from shortly after moving to Israel until I was pregnant with the Little One. As anyone who lives in Israel knows, the sheer quantity and variety of dairy products here is simply unparalleled, and I frequently found myself skipping over entire menu sections, constantly having to ask whether or not certain dishes contained dairy products and whether or not these dishes could be altered to accommodate my needs. Before becoming pregnant, I had read an article that some lactose-intolerant women become tolerant while pregnant, and that some women maintain that tolerance after giving birth. I decided to test this theory, since I was at home due to the high risk nature of the pregnancy, and very, very bored. Much to my surprise, I discovered that I was indeed tolerant (though a cruel twist of fate meant that I had gestational diabetes, so there were still many forbidden foods).

I hungrily consumed dairy products for the duration of my pregnancy, all the time pondering what would happen once I gave birth. The tolerance stayed with me, and I couldn't help but wonder if it was due to the fact that I was nursing, which played a small role in the fact that we nursed until the Little One was one month shy of his second birthday (with me pumping twice during the workday in order to keep up the supply, until he was 11 months-old), as I didn't want to revert to my former intolerant self. The Little One is nearly three years old, and I'm still eating dairy. I've discovered a whole world of ice cream, yogurt, pasta dishes with cream sauce, cheeses, and of course, my beloved latte. And finally, after many years of suffering and dread, I have been able to embrace the holiday of Shavuot, where tradition dictates that we eat copious amounts of dairy foods, and not eating at least some cheesecake is akin to sacrilege.

During Shavuot, agriculture is king, and in Israel, we celebrate with a veritable plethora of farm activities, whether they be tractor demonstrations, hay rides, and trips to various working farms around the country. We took the opportunity to visit friends on a moshav, as the friends have cows and tractors, and we were anxious to show the Little One where milk comes from. We strolled through the barn, discussing the bovine activities that we were witnessing and playing on the many tractors in the yard. As luck would have it, we were there for milking time, and the Husband brought the Little One into the center of the milking apparatus so that he could watch the cows line up on either side and get hooked up to the milking machine. He enjoyed the experience, though I think he was a bit unnerved by being surrounded by so many cows.

I stood on the side, watching my son as he witnessed in wonder. And as I watched each udder hooked up to the pump and observed the milk begin to flow, all I could think of was, "I know what that feels like!" Indeed, I am a sad cow...

In case you were wondering, the cheesecake was excellent...

80s Music Video Sunday #23

During my university days, there were people who told me that if I was any more laid-back, I'd probably be dead. I always dressed very casually, usually jeans (which were sometimes torn) and sandals (when it was warm enough), and had a penchant for tie-dye, which still exists today. I can only imagine what kind of vibe I must have been giving off, as people always seemed rather surprised that I wasn't a party type, and that I'd never done drugs (which is also still true today, despite a carefree weekend in Amsterdam last fall). Aside from a few occasional bouts of trying to be trendy (I can sadly admit to owning clothes with shoulder pads, though I don't know if there's any photographic proof), when it comes down to it, I'm a crunchy granola hippie-chick wannabe at heart. Give me sandals (if I can't go barefoot) and those long, "earthy" skirts and dresses, give me low-maintenance hair, and I'll be a happy little clam.

Given all of that, you'd have thought that I would have been a serious Dead Head in my youth. Sure, I'd heard of them, but somehow, their music was not on my radar at the time. The kids who promoted listening to the Grateful Dead were the same ones who had passes to the smoking room, the kids who didn't feel the need to conform to the unspoken "white-bread" nature of our life in suburbia. At the time, it would never have occurred to me to reach out to them, nor they to me. I was too busy with my own stuff, with my own friends, and too unsure of myself to reach out to those who dared to be different, who didn't feel it was necessary to be like everyone else. I associated the Grateful Dead with a certain group of people, and as a result, I opted not to take an interest in their music.

Over the years, my musical tastes have changed. Some of my closest friends were (and still are) big fans of this musical phenomenon, and needless to say, I can't believe that it took me so long to discover them. So many years wasted, so many opportunities to see them perform missed. NRG introduced me to one of their songs once I was already living in Israel, and I was hooked. A former officemate of mine was also a fan, and his Grateful Dead CDs were often playing in the background.

While I'd heard a number of their songs over the years, one in particular made a successful crossover into the realm of mainstream music, and the video for this song (released in 1987) received heavy airplay on MTV. Before I really knew their music, I knew the words to this song. Now, it's one of many Grateful Dead songs that I enjoy, but it will always be the song that began to draw me in.



Touch of Grey
Grateful Dead

It must be getting early
Clocks are running late
Paint by numbers morning sky
Looks so phony

Dawn is breaking everywhere
Light a candle, curse the glare
Draw the curtains, I don't care
'Cause it's alright

I will get by
I will get by
I will get by
I will survive

I see you got your list out
Say your piece and get out
Yes I got the gist of it
But it's alright

Sorry that you feel that way
The only thing there is to say
Every silver lining's got a
Touch of grey

It's a lesson to me
The Ables and the Bakers and the C's
The A B C's
We all must face
And try to keep a little grace

I know the rent is in arrears
The dog has not been fed in years
It's even worse than it appears
But it's alright

Cows are giving kerosene
The kid can't read at seventeen
The words he knows are all obscene
But it's alright

I will get by
I will get by
I will get by
I will survive

It's a lesson to me
The Deltas and the East and the Freeze
The A B C's
We all think of
And try to keep a little love

The shoe is on the hand it fits
There's really nothing much to it
Whistle through your teeth and split
'Cause it's alright

Oh well a touch of grey
Kind of suits you anyway
That was all I had to say
And it's alright

I will get by
I will get by
I will get by
I will survive

We will get by
We will get by
We will get by
We will survive

Restaurants...

TAFKA PP sent me this meme, which is much lighter than the previous one. It may, however, prove to be equally challenging, given that she's tagged me to name restaurants in the north of Israel, and frankly, most of the restaurants that we go to are more centrally located. So, I may have to cheat a bit (as did she, might I point out!). Here we go!

The rules:
1. Add a direct link to your post below the name of the person who tagged you. Include the city/state and country you’re in.

Nicole (Sydney, Australia)
velverse (Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia)
LB (San Giovanni in Marignano, Italy)
Selba (Jakarta, Indonesia)
Olivia (London, England)
ML (Utah, USA)
Lotus (Toronto, Canada)
tanabata (Saitama, Japan)
Andi (Dallas [ish], Texas, United States)
Todd (Louisville, Kentucky, United States)
miss kendra (los angeles, california, u.s.a)
Jiggs Casey (Berkeley, CA, USA! USA! USA!)
Tits McGee (New England, USA)
Kat (Ontario, Canada)
Cheezy (London, England)
tafka PP (Jerusalem, Israel)
Liza ("Northern" Israel)

2. List out your top 5 favorite places to eat at your location.

1. If I'm going close-to-home local, our default restaurant of choice is Jacko's Fish and Seafood, located in the Caesarea Industrial Zone. Their seafood risotto is absolutely fabulous, and they do a grilled filet of bass that makes my mouth water just thinking about it. The service is always excellent, attire is anything from casual to dressy (by Israeli standards), and they're very family-friendly. The Little One is adept at ordering chocolate truffles ("I want da choclit trupples, Mommy") for dessert.
   
2. Another favorite resto of ours in the area closed a couple of years ago, but we remember it so fondly that I'm including it here. Bistro Pica was an intimate French restaurant with consistently high-quality food and wonderful, personal service. No matter what we ordered, whether it be the duck, the seafood cassoulet, the salmon in saffron sauce, etc. Should I go on? The owner was a charming, well-traveled woman, with whom we still maintain contact. We took friends there, we brought my parents there. Birthdays and anniversaries were celebrated there. The owner recently let my husband know that she's embarking on a new culinary project, and we anxiously await the news that she's open for business.
   
3. If we expand our geographic boundaries to include Tel Aviv, I have to say that my favorite restaurant is definitely Onami, which is, of course, Japanese. There's one friend in particular who I really enjoying going with, and when our husbands join, they just sit there in awe as we continue to order more and more sushi, whether it be the salmon nigiri, pumpkin maki, salmon skin maki, etc. Their agadashi tofu is the best I've ever tasted, and their seaweed salad is certainly nothing to sneeze at either. We've even seen Japanese people eating there, which must be a good sign, right? Decor is funky trendy, and you can grab a table or sit at the bar and watch the sushi men work their magic right in front of your eyes. When you walk in, you're greeted with a rousing "irasshaimase", which means "please come in", by the sushi men. I've got their number in my cell phone for emergencies...
   
4. I love Tandoori. We go to the branch in Herzliya, and their food is out of this world. Service is always impeccable, and Reena Pushkarna has got to be one of the most charming hostesses ever. If you love Indian food and can't get to TAFKA PP's suggestion in Ramle, this is the place, with branches around the country, including a Kosher branch in Jerusalem. They're also family-friendly, giving gift packs to small children as they leave the restaurant.
   
5. Eema Adama is my fifth choice. They're located near my office and make the most incredible salads ever. You select your own ingredients (with a selection ranging from the usual lettuce, tomato and cucumber, to broccoli, to two different kinds of tofu, two different kinds of chicken, an assortment of grains such as bulgur, lentils and quinoa, granola, pineapple, cheeses, anti-pasti, etc), and they create your salad, topping it off with any one of a number of phenomenal dressings (I always take a combination of the cider and the balsamic dressings). Ingredients are added to huge bowls, and once your salad is complete, the servers toss the salad together with the dressing in the bowls using large spoons, ensuring that everything is well mixed before handing you your bowl. You can do takeaway, eat inside the resto, or sit in the hidden courtyard in the back. I've taken many people there, including our very own Stefanella, and everyone loves it. I feel very healthy whenever I eat there, and it's the perfect escape from the food served in the company dining room. Of course, I can't mention this restaurant without giving thanks to friend and periodic commenter Arik, who introduced me to Eema Adama (as well as a number of other restos in this area) in the first place. Thanks, buddy! I definitely owe you one!

Let's see, who to tag... Beth in Ireland, Jessica in Switzerland (whose food descriptions are so incredible that I sometimes feel I've gained weight just by reading her blog), NRG in Norway (do it in the comments section, please), and Dame, somewhere in the US, Lisa in Tel Aviv, and Stefanella, also in Tel Aviv.

Writing Meme

I've decided that today is a meme day. I've got two waiting for me in the pipeline, and today is the day.

For the first meme, the fabulously talented Jessica (check her out, folks – the woman is a brilliant writer) challenges me to describe my favorite kind of writing. Well, I know that it's definitely not technical writing... Seriously, though, it's a tough question. I love to write. I love to create perfect sentences, I love to watch my words flow and take on meaning. I am attracted to good writing and I seek out friendships with writers. The world of writers and writing turns me on, and it excites me to know that I have friends who are such gifted writers. Aside from wanting to be the first baseman for the New York Yankees, all I have ever really wanted to do is write, and I've been doing it for as long as I remember, even winning a few writing competitions sponsored by one of the local newspapers when I was growing up. That's me. A writer. Always. It's why I blog. It's why I've got constant inner turmoil as I try to figure out, at age 39 (almost), what I want to do with my life, what I want to be when I grow up.

To be honest, I'm not sure that I've got one genre that I favor above all others. I enjoy writing when I feel passionate about something, when specific incidents stir my emotions for either good or bad. I love to write about my son. I love to write in such a way that it affects others, makes them think. I love to write humorously, imagining the sounds of my friends' laughter as they read what I've written. I enjoy writing a good rant every now and then, anger and excitement working in my favor as words effortlessly spill all over the page, thoughts popping up faster than I can type. I love to write well. I derive immense pleasure from reading something I've written, knowing that I've managed to successfully convey whatever message I'd been trying to get across. I derive great pleasure from my writing, whether it be the act itself or the final product. I'm even pleased when I create well-written sentences for technical documentation, or when I've taken someone else's poorly content and turned it into clear, user-friendly text, even though I don't find a lot of joy in the overall creation of such documents.

What can I say? Writing, reading something well-written, and being around great writers all make my socks roll up and down. That's all there is to it, really. So, Jessica, I'm not sure how much this answers the meme, but it's what came out. Hope you like it!

For this meme, I tag TAFKA PP, Maryam and Tololy (who is having an extremely busy month, so I'll understand if she doesn't get to it right away, but I've tagged her anyway, because I think her answer will be very interesting. Whenever you get to it, my dear.).

80s Music Video Sunday #22

Like many of my friends (and I'm obviously referring to my Jewish friends here, as the following words will prove), I had a bat mitzvah. While we didn't opt for the tacky theme party route, my parents still managed to put together a lovely, three-day celebration, with out-of-town relatives invited over Friday evening (resulting in all sorts of strangers coming up to me, saying, "you don't know me, but we're related", and then handing me envelopes with checks inside), Saturday morning services in the synagogue, followed by a reception at one of the local country clubs, guests at the house that evening, and brunch the next morning. Quite a weekend, to say the least.

I have to be honest. Given that it was (gulp) twenty-six years ago, I don't remember it too well. I remember the bit about the checks (funny, that), I remember hating the photographer, who was far too intrusive for my liking, which resulted in many photos of me glaring (at least you couldn't see my braces!), I remember my cousins trying to get me to drink screwdrivers, and I remember the candle lighting ceremony, which is when various important people in your life are called upon to come light one of the candles on the cake. More specifically, I remember my brother's turn. For each person, the band played a different song, something, I suppose, that was considered appropriate for that person. My little brother was ten at the time. And he had a favorite song. It's the only song that I remember from the entire ceremony, as it was so unlike the "Fiddler on the Roof" type songs played for everyone else. Whenever I feel like teasing my little brother today, I remind him of "our" song. I mean, seriously. Who wouldn't turn a bit red being forced to remember that "Celebration" by Kool & The Gang was once their favorite song, right?



Celebration
Kool & The Gang

Yahoo! This is your celebration
Yahoo! This is your celebration

Celebrate good times, come on! (Let's celebrate)
Celebrate good times, come on! (Let's celebrate)

There's a party goin' on right here
A celebration to last throughout the years
So bring your good times, and your laughter too
We gonna celebrate your party with you

Come on now

Celebration
Let's all celebrate and have a good time
Celebration
We gonna celebrate and have a good time

It's time to come together
It's up to you, what's your pleasure

Everyone around the world
Come on!

Yahoo! It's a celebration
Yahoo!

Celebrate good times, come on!
It's a celebration
Celebrate good times, come on!
Let's celebrate

We're gonna have a good time tonight
Let's celebrate, it's all right
We're gonna have a good time tonight
Let's celebrate, it's all right

Baby...

We're gonna have a good time tonight (Ce-le-bra-tion)
Let's celebrate, it's all right
We're gonna have a good time tonight (Ce-le-bra-tion)
Let's celebrate, it's all right

Yahoo!
Yahoo!

Celebrate good times, come on! (Let's celebrate)
Celebrate good times, come on!
It's a celebration!
Celebrate good times, come on! (Let's celebrate)

Come on and celebrate, good times, tonight (Celebrate good times, come on!)
'Cause everything's gonna be all right
Let's celebrate (Celebrate good times, come on)
(Let's celebrate)...

A prayer for a child

As a parent, my greatest fear is not having the opportunity to watch my son grow up, for something to happen to him or to me that would deny me the chance of seeing the person he will eventually become. I wish I could say that I can't imagine how great the pain must be to lose one's child, but sadly, I have been there, and I know that there is no greater pain, no feelings of greater helplessness than watching one's child grow sicker and sicker, knowing that nothing can be done, and that the only thing you can do is hope and pray for a miracle.

I admit that I am not religious, nor do I believe in God. I do, however, respect those who do, and at times I even wish that I could share in their belief that there is an entity out there who controls, who makes things happen, who grants wishes and miracles. I imagine that it must be a comfort to know that such an entity exists, somewhere to lay your trust, some sort of being to pray to in times of dire need, and hope that your prayers will be answered.

This is one of those times. Without divulging any identifying details, I have been profoundly saddened to hear about a little boy (the son of a friend of a friend) who is very, very sick. A sweet, innocent little boy who should be experiencing the joys of first grade, who should be outside playing with his friends, who should be making all of the mischief that one expects from sweet little boys. Instead, he is fighting for his life, and the prognosis isn't good. His parents are bringing him home from the hospital, and we have reason to believe that this isn't a good sign.

The family is devastated, as are all those who know them and those who simply know their tragic story. I have been where they are, and it is a situation that I wouldn't wish on anyone. I think about what they are going through, and I can feel my body go numb as the tears well up in my eyes. I don't know them personally, and do not wish to intrude on their private hell. All I can do to help is to write. So, I am humbly asking all who read this, please pray, or do whatever it is that you do when you desperately need a miracle. Maybe together, we can all make a difference. Thank you.

Defining moments in the Diaspora

I have spent a fair amount of time during the last week-and-a-half reflecting on our recent trip, thinking about various moments and highlights, mentally rehashing certain experiences as one often does after returning from vacation. There were two events in particular that stand out, each one positively reinforcing my connection to Israel, yet so different from one another. The first one occurred during our flight from Atlanta to Sarasota. I was beyond exhausted, having not slept much on the flight from Israel, and having successfully navigated US customs and Atlanta's massive airport, not to mention successfully keeping the Little One entertained enough so that he fell asleep in my arms shortly before boarding the plane. The flight was full, and our seatmate waited patiently while I got the Little One settled, carefully propping him against the pile of blankets I'd managed to acquire and stack against the window. He even offered to move to another seat so that we'd have more room, and after I assured him that this would be unnecessary, we fell into the usual airplane banter that is so often marked by the knowledge that, in all likelihood, you will never see the person again, nor will you even go so far as to exchange names. He asked where we were from, which inevitably defined the direction our conversation would take, for our seatmate turned out to be a card-carrying member of the unconditional-love-for- Israel Christian right (and a firefighter to boot, which of course led to the Little One – once he woke up – referring to our seatmate as Sam).

What began as an ordinary, in-flight conversation with a stranger led to a fascinating exchange of ideas and experiences as he shared his convictions and I told him about life in Israel. He's never been here, but desperately wanted to visit, to see his belief system come alive, to see that which he'd only heard about, to commune with history. He told me of his great respect and love for Ariel Sharon and shared his opinions about Israel's current state of affairs vis a vis her neighbors. As a result of his religious beliefs, I actually found him to be more "pro-Israel" than many of the Israelis I know, and certainly more in favor of many of Israel's policies than I am. Despite his unwavering attitude that Israel could seemingly do no wrong, it was more than a little refreshing to meet someone who "got it", someone who didn't force me to defend my country, someone who understood that Israelis are not warmongering aggressors out to take over the region, and that neighboring countries are not simply innocent victims of Israeli aggression, that the situation is far more complex than many would have you believe.

The hour-long flight passed quickly and pleasantly, and while I desperately wanted our long journey to end, I was also a little sorry when this particular segment was over. I had enjoyed the company of our seatmate, who disappeared as we were getting ourselves ready to get off the plane. While we obviously didn't agree on every point (after all, living here on a daily basis, it is becoming increasingly more difficult to love my country unconditionally), and had we discussed other hot topics we might have come to blows, when it came down to it, I liked the guy. It was nice to talk to someone who passionately loved Israel instead of passionately hating it. I suddenly felt that maybe it wasn't so crazy to live here, that there are indeed those who do not believe that we should not exist, or even not have a right to exist. Despite my exhaustion, I was pleased that I had managed to stay awake during the flight and engage an anonymous young firefighter in conversation.

Israel's Memorial Day for Fallen Soldiers and Victims of Terror fell towards the end of our trip. It felt strange knowing that I wouldn't be commemorating it in Israel, as I don't believe I've ever missed it in all of my years living here. For me, the day is special, a day of reflection and remembrance, a day when I feel connected to my fellow citizens as we collectively go through a state of mourning, even though it is one that has, to some extent, been imposed upon us (see Lisa's Memorial Day posts here and here, with the latter including a brief video taken during the siren). I imagine it would have been especially poignant this year, given that it would have been the first Memorial Day following the war last summer, and I wondered how I would commemorate the day while in the Diaspora. I was pleased when I discovered that the local Jewish Federation (in conjunction with another Israel-related group) would be holding a ceremony to commemorate Israel's Memorial Day. It was interesting to observe, as those in attendance were mostly from two distinct groups – elderly American Jews who have retired to Florida, and young Israelis and their families who had left Israel, but had chosen to remain connected. The program was led by the local Israeli emissary, and aside from one bizarre, rather long-winded rant given by one of the elderly American Jews (who I assume plays some prominent role in the local Jewish community), the events were rather well-done, if not a little frustrating for those who couldn't understand the Hebrew captions in the video clips that had been taken straight from Israeli television. We stood in silence, we sang meaningful songs, we watched as pictures of the fallen were projected onto the large screen at the front of the room. We said the mourners' prayer, sang Hatikvah, and then a break was taken in order to get the room ready for the next part of the evening – Israeli folk dancing and food to celebrate Israel's Independence Day, which begins at sundown at the end of Memorial Day.

I'm glad I went, but I felt a bit odd nonetheless. I felt like I didn't belong to either group in attendance, yet at the same time, I felt connected to both. To some I was Israeli, while to others I was American. I inexplicably found myself wanting to somehow let the Israelis know that I was "one of them", but was I really, or would they just have seen me as an American who lives in Israel, despite the fact that I have been here for so long, speak the language fluently, and feel that I have successfully integrated? I suppose this comes down to the very core of the expat experience, and knowing that I will always feel the draw of the other, no matter where I find myself. That night, due to the nature of the event, I imagine that I felt more connected to my Israeli side than to my American side, but given the circumstances at hand, I strangely did not feel completely at home with either. I assume this had something to do with the fact that aside from my parents and my son, I didn't really know anyone there, and no one really knew me. I did, however, run into someone I'd met before.

The last time we visited Florida was two years ago. The day after we arrived, my parents took us a beach known as South Lido Park. While we were unwrapping our sandwiches, two people approached from the parking lot, staking out the tables next to ours. As luck would have it, the people were speaking in Hebrew. Within about twenty minutes, we found ourselves exchanging pleasantries with a group of 15-20 Israelis and their partners/families, all of whom, live in Sarasota. It was a surprisingly enjoyable afternoon (and, incidentally, the only time during our entire stay that I felt comfortable nursing the Little One in public, knowing that those around me wouldn't look at me strangely, or even look at me at all), as we all chatted and laughed, and even drank Turkish coffee, which they had in abundant supply. Apparently, we made quite an impression, as one of the women in attendance (an American married to an Israeli) at the Memorial Day ceremony remembered having met me on the beach, two years ago. So very Israeli.

80s Music Video Sunday #21

Do today's youth collect concert t-shirts the way we used to when we were young? If I were to go through my collection of old clothes, I would find piles and piles of those concert shirts, both regular t-shirts as well as those three-quarter sleeve jerseys, where the body of the shirt was usually white or grey, and the sleeves a different color. There'd be shirts from concerts I attended such as Sting or the Beach Boys, as well as t-shirts from concerts that I never made it to, such as Loverboy, which I imagine must have been purchased by friends following copious amounts of begging and cajoling.

Growing up in Upstate New York, we had several concert venues from which to choose. Summer concerts inevitably took us to the Saratoga Performing Arts Center (where we preferred to stake out spots on the lawn or wander around the grounds to taking a seat inside), and sometimes even as far as Tanglewood, while concerts during the rest of the year had us trekking to places like the RPI Fieldhouse. It was here that I saw my very first concert. For the life of me, I can't remember who I went with, but I I went with fellow Israeli blogosphere citizen and longtime friend Safranit (who clearly has a much better memory than I, despite being the same age), and can still remember being dazzled by the excitement of it all, not to mention how loud it was, due to the huge speakers.

The opening act was Marshall Crenshaw, an excellent musician in his own right, with songs such as "Someday Someway" and "You're My Favorite Waste of Time". (Two points for anyone who can tell me what famous rocker Crenshaw portrayed on the big screen, and what the name of that film was.) The night's headliner was the equally brilliant Howard Jones, whose Dream into Action album was one of the most frequently played cassettes in my collection. With hits like "No One is to Blame", "Life in One Day" and "Things Can Only Get Better", Howard Jones was definitely one of my favorite 80s performers, and is still performing today. I have only vague recollections of what must have been a fabulous (though apparently not memorable, but I'm going to chalk that up to my advanced age) evening. And somewhere, of course, I still have the t-shirt.

So, do you remember your first concert?



What is Love?
Howard Jones

I love you whether or not you love me
I love you even if you think I don't
Sometimes I find you doubt my love for you
But I don't mind
Why should I mind, Why should I mind

What is love anyway, does anybody Love anybody anyway
What is love anyway, does anybody Love anybody anyway

Can anybody love anyone so much that they will never fear
Never worry never be sad
The answer is they cannot love this much nobody can
This is why I don't mind you doubting

What is love anyway, does anybody Love anybody anyway
What is love anyway, does anybody Love anybody anyway

And maybe love is letting people be just what they want to be
The door always must be left unlocked
To love when circumstance may lead someone away from you
And not to spend the time just doubting

What is love anyway, does anybody Love anybody anyway
What is love anyway, does anybody Love anybody anyway
What is love anyway, does anybody Love anybody anyway
What is love anyway, does anybody Love anybody anyway
What is love anyway, does anybody Love anybody anyway
What is love anyway, does anybody Love anybody anyway

Time to get the terrible twosome out of Dodge

With so much going on here, you'd think I'd have a lot to say. I suppose I do, especially with regard to the juvenile antics of certain Israeli politicians who seem so hell-bent on saving themselves that they are willing to ignore the loud cries all around them calling for change. The behavior of these individuals has reached a new low, and frankly, given the gravity of the situation, it is rather pathetic. Just when you thought you'd seen it all (and given the frequently disturbing activities of a great many of our politicians, "all" covers an impressive variety of misdeeds), just when you thought that the egomaniacal self-centeredness couldn't get any worse (the President's apoplectic attack on the media in light of the veritable plethora of charges he's facing not withstanding), it somehow manages to become even more frightening and depressing. We are left with the knowledge that the priorities of our leaders take precedence over that which is right or honorable, and the will of the people is of no importance.

With support for Prime Minister Ehud Olmert and Defense Minister Amir Peretz at an all-time low, with most polls showing that Israeli citizens believe this incorrigible terrible twosome should follow the route taken by former Chief of Staff Dan Halutz and get out of Dodge pronto, you'd think that at least one of them would blink. You'd think that at least one of them would pull their heads out of the sand and realize that they are no longer truly representing our nation and step down gracefully. Instead, we are forced to listen to the babblings of two individuals who prefer to follow the path of denial, who believe that by staying in office they can somehow change the legacy that they are both destined to leave behind.

And what is that legacy, exactly? For Peretz, it is woefully simple. Despite an obviously great lack of military experience, the man let his ego get the better of him, foregoing more aptly suited ministries such as something welfare or finance-related in favor of the more meaty position of Defense Minister, a decision that will surely haunt him until the end of his days (and if it doesn't, it should). He might have even gotten away with it, were it not for that pesky little Second Lebanon War last summer, placing his utterly inadequate level of military knowledge squarely in the spotlight, and immediately dooming him to go down as one of the worst defense ministers in our history. If he weren't so obstinately claiming repeatedly that his lack of knowledge actually made him a better defense minister than those with more knowledge because it allowed him to think outside the box, I might even feel sorry for him and the mess in which he found himself with the outbreak of the war. But alas, no. The man has proved on more than one occasion that he simply doesn't know when to keep his mouth closed, and thus leaves a legacy of bumbling, ineffective management of the war, combined with an inability to lay low and perhaps humbly admit defeat.

The legacy of Olmert is a bit more complex, for in addition to his disastrous handling of the war, the man is a serious scandal magnet, especially with regard to various financial and real estate dealings. In need of a serious attitude adjustment, not to mention a harness for reining in that massive ego, Olmert clearly doesn't care that he has made a mockery of our political system and of his position as our nation's leader – an arena in which it's not so easy to stand out in Israel, given the spectacular prevalence of wrongdoing and questionable ethical hijinks in our hallowed halls of politics. But indeed, Olmert will surely be remembered in the history books as the leader responsible for the mismanagement the Second Lebanon War, the leader who has spent more time running from scandal than actually running the country. He leaves a legacy as the prime minister who dealt the death blows to the nation's already eroded faith in its government, the prime minister who chose to go down kicking and screaming, sadly opting to fling any remaining shreds of decency out the window, willing to do anything to hold onto his seat, even when those who elected him so obviously no longer want him around.

It is more than a little disturbing to discover with such utter finality, without any question of doubt, the true colors of our leaders. There is no way to ignore their smarmy ridicule of the system, their "can't-touch-me" attitudes. Is there anyone out there who honestly believes that the grave mistakes and charges listed in the Winograd Report can somehow be fixed by the current government? Is there any citizen prepared to forgive our leaders (especially our Prime Minister) for such sickening abuses of power?

I would never presume to be able to do these jobs, nor would I want to. I recognize my own shortcomings, and I'd like to think that I'd know better than to step into an important job that I knew was so clearly beyond my abilities. I'd like to think that I would have the integrity to put the needs of the greater good above my own desires, and I'd like to believe that I'd have the good sense to step down honorably if I'd made an irrevocable, colossal blunder. And clearly, this is too much to ask of our current leadership.