Life wasn't easy when I first went off to college in Boston. I had just spent a year abroad in Israel and, having already gotten used to living away from home without having my parents around, I found it more than a little disconcerting to find myself surrounded by people undergoing a rite of passage that I had gone through one year previously, in a foreign country, no less. It probably didn't help matters that I wasn't much of a party-person, and certainly wasn't a big drinker. It took me a while to find the friends who would remain as such for the duration of my years at BU, as even though I was being dragged (not kicking and screaming, but certainly not with any degree of wholeheartedness) to parties with my floor mates, the realization that the people I needed to meet couldn't be found at those parties I disliked so much was a long time in coming.
Fortunately for me, I had a fabulous RA (resident assistant) that year, a first-year graduate student whose quirky sense of humor matched my own, who apparently sensed that I was having a hard time finding my niche. Not only did he make me laugh, but he also managed to keep me relatively sane. While I did eventually find my place, I owe him a great debt of gratitude for helping me to get through those first few months in such a big, strange place.
And, I also owe Tim a debt of gratitude for introducing me to one of the greatest bands ever – The Pogues. I'd never heard of them before meeting Tim, and thanks to him, I not only now have a small collection of Pogues albums, but I found that I can impress nearly any Brit or Irishman (or at the very least, I can impress Anglosaxy, who is, anyway, easily impressed ;-P) by making them aware of my musical tastes (at least with regard to The Pogues – I tend to shy away from mentioning that I've also got a few Andy Gibb tracks, but that's neither here nor there…).
So, in the spirit of the season, today's entry for 80s Music Video Sunday is The Pogues' charming little Christmas song, " Fairytale of New York". Merry Christmas!
Fairytale of New York The Pogues
It was Christmas Eve babe In the drunk tank An old man said to me, won't see another one And then he sang a song The Rare Old Mountain Dew I turned my face away And dreamed about you
Got on a lucky one Came in AT eighteen to one I've got a feeling This year's for me and you So Happy Christmas I love you baby I can see a better time When all our dreams come true
They've got cars big as bars They've got rivers of gold But the wind goes right through you It's no place for the old When you first took my hand On a cold Christmas Eve You promised me Broadway was waiting for me
You were handsome You were pretty Queen of New York City When the band finished playing They howled out for more Sinatra was swinging, All the drunks they were singing We kissed on a corner Then danced through the night
The boys of the NYPD choir Were singing "Galway Bay" And the bells were ringing out For Christmas day
You're a bum You're a punk You're an old slut on junk Lying there almost dead on a drip in that bed You scumbag, you maggot You cheap lousy faggot Happy Christmas your arse I pray God it's our last
The boys of the NYPD choir Still singing "Galway Bay" And the bells were ringing out For Christmas day
I could have been someone Well so could anyone You took my dreams from me When I first found you I kept them with me babe I put them with my own Can't make it all alone I've built my dreams around you
The boys of the NYPD choir Still singing "Galway Bay" And the bells are ringing out For Christmas Day
While both the mainstream media and the blogosphere have been buzzing about the interrogation of three Israeli journalists following visits to countries defined by Israel as being "enemy" countries, I have remained silent. I chose to remain silent, as anyone who reads this blog is aware of my close friendship with one of them, and while she is certainly aware of my unwavering support, I wasn't sure that I'd be able to write a post that would sound supportive, yet unbiased. Now, following days of frustration and disgust over some of the pieces that have been written as well as some of the comments I've seen, I find that I just can't keep quiet any longer. I'm horrified by the (usually incorrect) assumptions that people have made, involving everything from her journalistic ethics to her motives, and shocked by the number of individuals who seem to think that Lisa Goldman and her colleagues simply woke up one day, tossed a change of underwear and a toothbrush into their laptop bags, and popped across the border to visit with "the enemy", without thinking of the possible ramifications.
While I can't personally vouch for Lisa's colleagues, I'm going to make an educated guess and assume that these are intelligent, knowledgeable individuals who were well aware of where they were going and took necessary precautions – just like Lisa. And, as opposed to being unable to vouch for her colleagues, I CAN personally vouch for Lisa. I know how much thought went into her trips, how much preparation. I know how she was feeling and what she was thinking, her excitement and her concerns, her expectations. Going to Lebanon was not something she took lightly – if anything, I'd say it was quite the opposite.
There are those who complain about her selfishness, about endangering national security by her actions, and so on, just so that she could do a non-newsworthy "fluff" piece. What these individuals are overlooking is that it was not Lisa's intention to file some hard-hitting scoop. Anyone who reads either her blog or any of the other articles that she's either written or been interviewed for knows that Lisa is drawn to human interest stories, and this is precisely what she reported on for both Channel 10 and Time Out Tel Aviv. Whenever people ask me about living in Israel, talking about how dangerous it is or how scary it must be, I've always responded by saying that daily life here is different from what they show on the news, because you don't see reporters filing stories about regular life, and if nothing is happening, there's not going to be a story about it. Until now. Until Lisa went to Lebanon, and returned to share her impressions, to provide Israelis with a picture of "normal" life in Beirut. Not every story needs to be earth shattering, and frankly, I found these scenes from Beirut – a city just a few hours to the north, one that I will probably never have a chance to visit – to be invaluable.
I am both saddened and distressed as I watch this entire episode unfold. As I've been writing this post, I've learned that Daniel Sharonwill soon be indicted for his recent trip to Lebanon, and who knows how many other journalists (and politicians) may soon be caught up in the same web as Lisa and her colleagues. Why is there a witch hunt, and why is it happening now, when these kinds of trips have been made for years? As an Israeli, I am worried about our country's current state of affairs, our misplaced priorities. As a person, I am worried about my friend. I want this to go away. Lisa has said that had she realized that what she was doing was against the law, she never would have done it. I believe her. I'm sure there are those of you who will belittle my stance because I'm biased. And you're right. I am biased. Lisa and I wouldn't be such close friends if I didn't admire her so much as an individual – her intelligence, her warmth, her sense of humor. I'm impressed by her innate ability to connect with people, and how she will always go out of her way to do so. One of her primary reasons for visiting Lebanon had to do with her constant desire to build bridges – to learn about her neighbors and to, in turn, share her newfound knowledge with her countrymen. Yes, a law was unknowingly broken, but the intent was neither criminal nor malicious, and if anything, it was the opposite. The police have made their point by publicizing the interrogation, and unless they are planning to go after every other person who's ever made such a trip, I cannot help but question their motives in making an example of these three individuals, and I cannot help but wonder about the direction in which our society is going.
One of my favorite bloggers (not to mention one of my closest friends) has made me a promise. Lisa is a finalist in the "Best Non-Muslim Blog" category in the Brass Crescent Awards (which she won last year). The organizers write that "Past winner Lisa Goldman's posts about encounters with Palestinians, Lebanese, and other members of the Arab world "are always excellent," and frankly, I'm inclined to agree. Of course, I'm biased, especially given "the promise".
If Lisa wins, I get a smoked salmon sandwich, latte and dessert at Cafe Noach (only in Hebrew - sorry) in Tel Aviv. And, if you've tried their smoked salmon sandwiches, you'll understand how much I want Lisa to win! So, if you really love me and want me to eat well, or if you just think that Lisa happens to have a blog that is not only awesome, but also meets embodies the criteria for the category in which its been nominated, head on over to the web site for the Brass Crescent Awards and vote for Lisa. And, as long as you're already there, be sure to check out some of the other finalists in the other categories. Some of them are really excellent, and will soon be added to my blogroll.
Just say yes to smoked salmon! And, all kidding aside, I wouldn't be promoting her if I didn't believe that she truly deserves to win. I never cease to be amazed by her words, her efforts and her actions when it comes to bridge-building and reaching out to others, no matter how many obstacles are thrown in her way, no matter how many people try to provoke, discourage, or dismiss her. She always gets back up, dusts herself off, and jumps straight back in, and all because she's acting on what she believes in. The description for the "Best Non-Muslim Blog" category reads "Which blog writen by a non-Muslim is most respectful of Islam and seeks genuine dialogue with Muslims?", and in my opinion, nobody does it better than Lisa.
Given that my best friend lives in Norway, I have, over the years, developed something of an affinity for various aspects of life in this bastion of blondness (labor unions that boycott Israel and Jostein Gaarder not withstanding, of course). I am rather fond of Norwegian brown cheese, otherwise known as Gjetost (which I can indeed pronounce, thank you very much), Norwegian salmon makes my mouth water, I enjoy lefse, and would love to try lutefisk, if for no other reason than to be able to tell people that I've eaten fish that's been treated with lye. The Husband and I both have beautiful Norwegian sweaters that keep us toasty warm in winter, and the coffee mug I keep at work has pictures of the Norwegian flag on it.
I've been to visit twice, and can even still remember a few words in Norwegian, which is nothing short of a miracle given that it is one of the more difficult languages that I've come across, sounding at times like a cross between words that almost sound like they're in English, and words that sound like the speaker is making them up. Three of the bloggers on my blogroll are Norwegian (blogging in English, obviously), and I had the pleasure of meeting one of them when he came to Israel during the summer.
And of course, because I am a news junkie, I also keep up with the goings on in Norway by periodically reading the English online version of the Norwegian newspaper Aftenposten. Though many of the headlines do not catch my fancy (quite a few of the stories seem somewhat mundane and – for me at least – irrelevant when compared to current events in Israel), I occasionally come across stories that scream for attention, stories that make one realize what passes for headline news in "normal" countries. Like the story I came across today, for example. While skimming the headlines, I was immediately drawn to one in particular...
"Bestiality ban proposed
Minister of Agriculture and Food Terje Riis-Johansen wants Norway's Animal Protection Act updated to expressly forbid sex with animals. The existing act only specifies the kicking and beating of animals as abuse, and the agriculture minister now wants to close loopholes. "This is a punishable offense that shall not occur," Riis-Johansen told NRK (Norwegian Broadcasting). The ban will come into effect with the new Animal Protection Act, which will also prevent violence against animals and the use of live animals as feed or bait. "It will still be legal to use a riding crop on a horse that must be trained. But beating a dog will be illegal," the minister said. According to a 2006 survey of 650 veterinarians last year, bestiality - sex with animals - occurs far more often than people think. "Every fifth veterinarian has either established or strongly suspected the sexual abuse of one of its animal patients. The extent of sexual abuse of animals is far greater than we had reason to believe at the beginning," said Live Kleveland of the Norwegian Animal Welfare Alliance. She said that bestiality was first and foremost a problem with farming animals like cows, pigs, and sheep but also extended to domestic pets like cats and dogs, as well as sporting animals like horses."
Kind of makes you think, doesn't it? And I thought we had legal loopholes...
In the grand scheme of things, I've come to the conclusion that I'm a bit weird when it comes to remembering inane bits of trivia and assorted episodes from my past. I remember people much better than they remember me, and it can be rather alarming when I can spew the most minute, trivial details about past encounters when the person in question doesn't even remember my name. I've got a collection of birthdays filed away, mostly for friends whom I haven't spoken to in years, and I can remember my login name for my very first computer account (back in elementary school, when we used small black-and-white televisions as monitors and connected to the local network by dialing a certain telephone number and placing the receiver in a specially-designed piece of equipment).
I can remember plots from random episodes of 70s television shows, not to mention the names of actors and actress from various shows. In college, no one was more surprised than my roommate S when I was able to quickly name the actress/singer who played the role of Leather Tuscadero on Happy Days, and quite frankly, I'm not surprised that I actually remember how the subject came up. My friend C shares my appreciation for entertainment trivia, and our emails often incorporate these useless tidbits of knowledge to evoke memories and provoke raucous laughter on a regular basis (though chances are, no one else will get the joke but us...).
I'm also good at remembering numbers, whether it be dates, addresses, telephone numbers (a skill that's deteriorated with the advent of the cellular phone, of course), and so on. I can still remember my grandmother's phone number in Brooklyn, though the number hasn't been in service since 1984 or so, and I remember the phone numbers of some of my old neighbors in the town where I grew up. I can reel off my aunt and uncle's home address and phone number as necessary. Like many of my peers, I've memorized the mailing address for Zoom (that's 350, Boston, Mass, 02134), but I'm not sure that I can recite it without actually singing it as the Zoom kids did. I can also still do Bernadette's butterfly – can you?
Of course, for those of us who grew up in the 80s, there's one telephone number that none of us are ever likely to forget, belonging to a certain young lady named Jenny. Thanks to Tommy Tutone, an overwhelming number of telephone calls were made to increasingly frustrated individuals in a variety of area codes whose greatest misfortune was to have the phone number 867-5309.
867-5309/Jenny Tommy Tutone
Jenny Jenny who can I turn to you give me something I can hold on to now you think I'm like the others before who saw you name and number on the wall
Jenny I got your number I need to make you mine Jenny don't change your number 867-5309, 867-5309, 867-5309, 867-5309
Jenny Jenny your the girl for me you don't know me, but you make me so happy I tried to call you before but I lost the nerve I tried my imagination but I was disturbed
Jenny I got your number I need to make you mine Jenny don't change your number 867-5309, 867-5309, 867-5309, 867-5309
I got it, I got it, I got your number on the wall I got it, I got it, for a good time, for a good time call
Jenny don't change your number I need to make you mine Jenny I got your number 867-5309, 867-5309, 867-5309, 867-5309
Jenny Jenny who can I turn to (867-5309) for the price of a dime I can always turn to you
Ever gone on a date with someone while your leg was in a cast? I have. As I've mentioned before, I managed to break my leg only several weeks after arriving in Israel at age 18. During the weeks prior to my little mishap, a few friends and I met a group of young men at a (long-defunct) pub in Jerusalem. One of my friends immediately hooked up with one of the young men (immediately being an exchange of phone numbers, of course, and not a quick round of tonsil hockey that very same evening), and thus began one of the more interesting adventures of that year.
The young men we met were Armenian, and lived in the Armenian Quarter of the Old City. They told us about life in the Quarter and they invited us to parties that took place within the walls of the Quarter's convent (the convent was essentially a complex, and many Armenians lived within its walls, resulting in creative entries and exits once the convent gates were locked each night). We snuck them into our dormitory's second-story common room (through the porch door) after the house mother refused them entrance into the building (because they weren't nice Jewish Israeli boys), and we even learned a few words of Armenian (which sadly escape me now).
It was at one of the aforementioned convent parties that I met Aram. He was the DJ, and I was a girl with a serious crush. I didn't see Aram again until after I'd broken my leg. We all went downtown as a group, and believe me when I say that it's no easy feat to get from one end of Jaffa Road to the other with a full-leg cast and crutches. Soon after that, Aram and I made plans to go to a movie, and arranged that he would pick me up at my dormitory. I was excited, and while there was some lingering concern because I didn't know him very well, I reasoned that the cast on my leg, combined with the fact that the car only had two doors, would act as a deterrent in keeping things from going farther than I was prepared to go.
Aram picked me up in his black BMW (as I recall...), presented me with a red rose (which I keep to this day in its dried form), and then we went to see a film at the long-gone Edison Theatre. The film was "Top Gun", and to this day, whenever I hear the song I've chosen for today's 80s Music Video Sunday entry, I'm immediately transported back to that evening, twenty-one years ago, a time when Tom Cruise was just a talented young actor, and not someone prone to making an utter fool of himself on national television repeatedly. The song is Berlin's "Take My Breath Away".
Take My Breath Away Berlin
Watching every motion In my foolish lover's game On this endless ocean Finally lovers know no shame Turning and returning To some secret place inside Watching in slow motion As you turn around and say
Take my breath away Take my breath away
Watching I keep waiting Still anticipating love Never hesitating To become the fated ones Turning and returning To some secret place to hide Watching in slow motion As you turn to me and say
Take my breath away Take my breath away
Through the hourglass I saw you In time you slipped away When the mirror crashed I called you And turned to hear you say If only for today I am unafraid
Take my breath away Take my breath away
Watching every motion In this foolish lover's game Haunted by the notion Somewhere there's a love in flames Turning and returning To some secret place inside Watching in slow motion As you turn my way and say
We took a lot of family vacations while my brother and I were growing up. Sometimes, these getaways were relatively close to home (such as the one at Golden Acres Farm and Ranch, where my parents received special permission for me to join the hotel day camp's boys group instead of the girls group because the boys did fun stuff like dodge ball while the girls group took nature walks to pick flowers, and I was too much of a tomboy to do girly stuff), but other trips took us to far-flung Caribbean islands like Curacao and Saint Martin. The best vacations of all though, were the Caribbean cruises we took as teenagers.
Cruises are the perfect family vacation, as you don't actually have to spend all your time with your family. My parents would wake us up as they were leaving for breakfast, and then we might spot them around the ship during the course of the day. The only meal we shared as a family was dinner, prior to which, we would all squeeze around each other in our miniscule cabin, lining up to use the tiny bathroom and fight over mirror space in order to get ready. After dinner, my brother and I would once again take leave of our parents and run off to find the friends we'd made, usually heading off to the ship's disco for the rest of the evening, and eventually wandering over to the midnight buffet.
While I certainly enjoyed the various ports of call we visited along the way, the best times were to be had on-board. While memories of the first cruise we took are sketchy, I still have fond memories of the second cruise – taken when I was 17. Our group of new friends included Mexicans, Canadians and Brits, as well as an assortment of Americans. Days on-board were spent together, as well as our one-day docking on the cruise line's private island. As I mentioned above, evenings were spent in the disco, where I did my best to catch the eye of one of our young British acquaintances. To this day, I still don't know whether or not I succeeded (I was far too innocent and naive, and needless to say, utterly clueless about things like sending signals and making passes), but David and I remained friends, and managed to keep in touch quite regularly for approximately ten years after that vacation took place, meeting up once in NYC and again in London – no small feat given that this was the pre-email era and my snail mailing skills were questionable at best. We kept in touch during my gap year in Israel (he had spent a year in Israel as well before we met), throughout my years in Boston and during my initial years back in Israel. We exchanged camp stories while I worked at a Jewish camp in NY and he worked at a Jewish camp in Michigan, and we exchanged Israel stories for the duration of our correspondence. The last time I heard from him (at some point after I got married, as I recall), he was very happily living and working in Sydney, Australia, and had married a woman of Dutch-Lebanese descent. Somewhere, I still have all the old letters he sent (as well as nearly all the letters that anyone has ever sent me, including some real winners from a certain friend who reads and comments on this blog quite regularly), and I can even still remember his parents' address in London (I have a bizarre memory for random tidbits of information and trivia).
For some reason, there's one song that I always associate with those nights in the ship's disco. It was probably played at least once every evening, and whenever I hear it, I'm transported back in time, back to that disco. Who'd have guessed that "Tarzan Boy", by one-hit wonder Baltimora would be the song to evoke these memories of good times with "vacation" friends? Certainly not me, but given that it was the 80s, I suppose anything is possible...
Tarzan Boy Baltimora
Jungle life I'm far away from nowhere On my own like Tarzan Boy Hide and seek I play along while rushing cross the forest Monkey business on a sunny afternoon Jungle life I'm living in the open Native beat that carries on Burning bright A fire the blows the signal to the sky I sit and wonder does the message get to you
Night to night Gimme the other, gimme the other chance tonight Gimme the other, gimme the other Night to night Gimme the other, gimme the other world
Jungle life You're far away from nothing It's all right You won't miss home Take a chance Leave everything behind you Come and join me Won't be sorry It's easy to survive
Jungle life We're living in the open All alone like Tarzan Boy Hide and seek We play along while rushing cross the forest Monkey business on a sunny afternoon
Night to night Gimme the other, gimme the other Chance tonight Oh Yeah Night to night Gimme the other, gimme the other Night to night You won't play Night to night Gimme the other, gimme the other Chance tonight Oh Yeah Night to night Night to night Gimme the other, gimme the other
As you've probably guessed by now, my sense of humor is often rather quirky and off-beat. I appreciate intelligent, wry commentary, and would be lying if I didn't say that one of my favorite pastimes is exchanging clever, witty banter with friends online, either via email or using any one of my growing collection of chat applications. The writer in me enjoys using words this way, and I find myself drawn to people who can keep up the pace. Words are both magical and powerful, and there are few things that attract my attention more than people who know how to use them well, especially if the words make me laugh and think, and allow for an ongoing exchange in the same vein.
I've had (and continue to have) friendships and relationships that began as a result of my admiration for an individual's writing skills, though obviously, the relationships, as they grew, were not solely based on this one trait. When it comes to entertainment, I tend to prefer high-brow stand-up comedy. Low-brow, lewd, sex jokes do not impress me, nor does the gratuitous use of swearing, for despite the fact that I can and do curse like a truck driver under certain circumstances, if you look carefully through this blog, you will find very few such words among my entries. It's not my style, and it's not the way that I choose to communicate while writing. As in my friendships, I gravitate towards performers who make me think as well as laugh, and if they can intelligently incorporate current events into the act, then so much the better. And because I'm sure that you're dying to know, yes, I do have a favorite. While not a stand-up comedian in the traditional sense, this individual's talent for side-splittingly humorous commentary is unparalleled.
Given my addiction to passion for current events and politics, it should come as no surprise to anyone that I would gravitate towards the material of the incredibly talented Tom Lehrer. His songs are timeless, and I sometimes find it rather shocking that lyrics he wrote in the early 1960s are just as relevant today as when they were originally written. I can't decide if that says more about his uncanny understanding of popular culture or the sadly predictable state of the world. I think I wore out my copy of "That Was the Year That Was", a live album released in 1965, and favorite tunes include "National Brotherhood Week" (a toe-tapping ditty about race relations), "MLF Lullaby" (a charming little tune about the Multilateral Forces), "Smut" ("I do have a cause, though. It is 'obscenity'. I'm for it...") and "Vatican Rag" (everything you wanted to know about Catholicism but were afraid to ask...). While I'm not going to link to all the songs on the album, if you're up for a laugh, I'd strongly recommend taking a glance at all of his lyrics, which can be found on this website. There are also clips for many of the songs on YouTube, which are definitely worth checking out.
As I mentioned above, many of his tunes are still relevant today, whether it be "So Long, Mom" (about a young soldier going off to fight in World War 3) or "Who's Next" (a song about the nuclear arms race). Check out the clip below for a spot-on assessment of American foreign policy.
(Lyrics for all Tom Lehrer songs can be found here.)
If you'd like to listen to "This Was the Year that Was" in full, some kind soul has been thoughtful enough to upload it to YouTube in sections:
Disclaimer: Drinking liquids is not recommended while listening to Tom Lehrer. If you choose to do so, it is at your own risk. Your snarfing is not my responsibility.
*The title of this post is the last line of the Tom Lehrer song "Folk Song Army".
Well hey there everyone. I didn't mean to pull a runner yesterday, but life has been totally hectic with my parents here, unexpected deadlines at work and so on. We've been running around the country, hitting such spots as the Sanhedrin burial caves at Beit Shearim, the old city in Acco, the Neve Tzedek neighborhood and Jerusalem. I'll write a more extensive post with photos after they leave tomorrow and life has returned more or less to normal (it won't return to complete normalcy until the Little One has returned to pre-school next Sunday), but just wanted to mention a few of the highlights of their visit.
The Jerusalem Time Elevator. We went yesterday, and the effects were great! The seats move in accordance with what you're seeing on the screen, and it was brilliant. I did feel sorry for the couple that took the "walk of shame", though. Part way through the film, there was a pause and the lights came on, and the reason for the pause (announced, of course) was that someone in the moving seats wasn't feeling well, and had asked to move to the stationery seats (and no, it wasn't me!). We all sat and watched as a young couple made their way to the new seats quickly and silently, before the lights were dimmed once again and the movie restarted.
Manta Ray. My parents and I spent a fabulous day in Tel Aviv with Savta Dotty, whom they met when we were all in Florida in April. Savta Dotty took us to lunch at Manta Ray, making her a star forever in my parents' eyes. The food was divine. The dessert was unbelievable. Sitting at a table overlooking the Mediterranean, we chatted over the salads, laughed over the fish and seafood, drooled over the chocolate concoction with four spoons moving furiously between plates and mouths. The service was excellent, and we will definitely be going back. Lunch was followed by a stroll through Neve Tzedek, where we wandered around the grounds of the Suzanne Dellal Center, strolled in and out of the small galleries and shops scattered about the neighborhood (which is undergoing some serious gentrification these days), and even managed to acquire a beautiful necklace from the gallery of Ayala Bar, as Savta Dotty found herself an amazing pair of earrings.
The Sanhedrin burial caves. The contents of the caves were interesting to see, and given the fabulously cool temperatures underground, this place is the perfect outdoor summer excursion. From the caves, we went to lunch on Moshav Beit Shearim, and dined at a restaurant called "Ha'kdera Shel Noga" (Noga's Stew). To put it mildly, the food was simply outstanding, not to mention beautifully presented. The setting was gorgeous, the service was excellent, and don't forget to order the parfait for dessert.
Anyway, that's about all I have time for at the moment. Stay tuned for more details (and photos) later on in the week…
I don't even remember his name anymore, but for a while, he was one of my pen pals. Back in the 70s and 80s, it was very much the in thing in certain crowds to have pen pals, whose names you received via a variety of organizations created especially to facilitate such cross-cultural connections. I filled out the forms, stating my interests and hobbies with care, and was shortly rewarded by my efforts with letters from boys my age (don't ask why they didn't present me with female pen pals – I have no idea!) who lived in Israel and Egypt. In this pre-Internet era, we exchanged letters for a while, but given the inherent difficulties of filling pieces of paper with handwritten words, carefully folding the pages so they'd fit in the envelope, addressing said envelope and determining the proper amount of postage needed, these pen friendships, while well-intentioned, did not last for too long.
If I were to spend a few days rummaging through my old keepsakes (all conveniently boxed when my parents moved house just under two years ago), I might find the old letters and photos, reminding me of long-forgotten facts and nuggets of information shared by my pen friends in Egypt and Israel, at a time when I was too young to know about global issues and conflicts, and wished only to make friends with people in far away lands (apparently, some things never change!). Though it's probably been around 25 years since these connections were made, there is one detail that I still remember – the boy from Israel was really into a band called Dire Straits.
I've always enjoyed their music, not least of which because Mark Knopfler wrote the score for one of my all-time favorite movies, "The Princess Bride". Given that today is Mr. Knopfler's 58th birthday, it seems only fitting that today's 80s Music Video Sunday entry feature this incredible band. And, as opposed to last week's entry that featured the first video ever shown on MTV in the US, today's video was the first video ever shown on MTV Europe, on August 1st, 1987. Clearly, Europe wanted their MTV...
The song "Money for Nothing" is shrouded in controversy. Written by Knopfler from the point of view of a blue-collar worker watching MTV, the lyrics were criticized as being anti-gay, sexist and racist, and the entire second verse was often edited out due to both its content and the overall length of the song in its complete version. This edited version later appeared on a Dire Straits compilation album. In some instances, the word "faggot" was apparently replaced by "mother". While I was rather naive when the song was released in 1985, today I'm more than a little surprised that the public was so accepting of lyrics that make me somewhat uneasy.
Money for Nothing Dire Straits
I want my I want my MTV
Now look at them yo-yos that's the way you do it You play the guitar on the MTV That ain't workin' that's the way you do it Money for nothin' and chicks for free Now that ain't workin' that's the way you do it Lemme tell ya them guys ain't dumb Maybe get a blister on your little finger Maybe get a blister on your thumb
We gotta install microwave ovens Custom kitchen deliveries We gotta move these refrigerators We gotta move these colour tvs
See the little faggot with the earring and the makeup Yeah buddy that's his own hair That little faggot got his own jet airplane That little faggot hes a millionaire
We gotta install microwave ovesns Custom kitchens deliveries We gotta move these refrigerators We gotta move these colour tvs
I shoulda learned to play the guitar I shoulda learned to play them drums Look at that mama, she got it stickin' in the camera Man we could have some fun And he's up there, what's that? hawaiian noises? Bangin on the bongoes like a chimpanzee That ain't workin' that's the way you do it Get your money for nothin' get your chicks for free
We gotta install microwave ovens Custom kitchen deliveries We gotta move these refrigerators We gotta move these colour tvs, lord
Now that ain't workin' that's the way you do it You play the guitar on the mtv That ain't workin' that's the way you do it Money for nothin' and your chicks for free Money for nothin' and chicks for free
Life has been rather hectic in something something world, lately, hence the lack of blog entries. The Little One has been sick on and off for the past week, beginning with a throat infection last week and ending in a rash and swelling that was serious enough to warrant a trip to the hospital yesterday evening, at his doctor's suggestion. According to the Husband, he's already looking better this morning, and with any luck, they should be on their way home soon. One humorous moment passed last night during a visit to the eye doctor, who asked us if the Little One has any allergies. Husband and I looked at each other, and then looked at our son, whose face, hands and feet were severely swollen, and whose body was covered from head to toe with a rash. I turned back to the doctor, answered, "apparently", and the Husband and I laughed.
And of course, while this whole situation was unfolding, my old friend Murphy came to pay me a visit. For the past few weeks, I've been totally swamped at work, drowning in over two hundred pages of last-minute documents and tight deadlines. The individual managing the project believed that it wouldn't take too long, given that the documents only required formatting, and that checking the English wouldn't be necessary. Ummmm… Yeah… Sure… They believed that checking the English was "extra", especially since the target audience isn't made up of native speakers either (and are living in a third country, not known for excellence in its mastery of the English language). Knowing that I was essentially shooting myself in the foot, I begged to differ, and won approval from my boss to, ahem, "do my job". Suddenly, I was drowning in a torrential sea of badly written documents, I had other work-style projects on the burner as well, and at home, we were in crisis mode. Hopefully, now that the Little One is returning to his usual dimensions and he's no longer the color of a strawberry, life will revert back to its normal hectic state.
There has been one very bright spot during this period. Last Thursday evening, I had the opportunity to meet up with a really terrific politics and current events blogger, Jan, from Secular Blasphemy. Jan is a Norwegian blogger whose blog I've been reading for years, and whose writings tend to be very pro-Israel, unlike a great deal of the Norwegian mainstream media. Anyway, while reading Jan's blog just over a week ago, I discovered that he was vacationing in Israel. I quickly sent him and email and left him a comment, asking if he'd like to meet up at some point during his trip. He quickly responded in the affirmative, and on the day he arrived in Tel Aviv we all (all being Jan, his two friends, and me) met for drinks and dinner. It was a fascinating, very enjoyable evening, where we discussed everything from politics to lutefisk, and I was once again amazed by how well Norwegians can hold their beer.
Anyhow, I really must go read Harry Potter do something productive before the family returns…
Life in Israel and Lebanon was irrevocably altered exactly one year ago. Illusions of calm were shattered and dreams lay torn, ripped apart by powers beyond our control. Physical recovery from the war has been difficult, harder in some places than in others. Emotional recovery has been equally fraught, as people attempt to gather the shards of broken lives and broken relationships, with some attempts being more successful than others.
A big deal is being made of this one-year anniversary in Israel. Special news reports abound (including several from intrepid fellow bloggers Lisa and Rinat, who are taking the Hebrew language news media by storm these days, following their recent trips to Beirut, as well as Rinat's harrowing journey into South Lebanon), and the Prime Minister toured the north yesterday, stopping along the way to make such unremarkable comments as, "I'm convinced as I was on July 12 last year that we took the right decision (by going to war) that this threat should once and for all be driven away from our border." Major Israeli websites replaced their main pages for five minutes yesterday morning with messages showing solidarity with the missing soldiers, and several local bloggers are also taking note.
Whether we want to or not, we cannot escape these images of the war last summer, and the big question on everybody's minds these days seems to be whether or not we'll have another one this summer, and indeed, it has been a popular survey question in the both the mainstream media and in the local blogosphere. I cannot help but remember how our world turned upside down, how the relative normality of our lives was blown apart. I remember the haunting sounds of the sirens signaling an incoming rocket (which fortunately, I didn't hear too frequently in my own area, as we were "only" in long-range missile range); I remember sitting on the train heading home in the evenings, wondering what would happen if the train were hit by one of these rockets, waiting to be picked up at the train station after hearing that a rocket had fallen in the vicinity. Rumors abounded as we all did what we could to find out where rockets had landed, and I remember how fascinating it was to observe how easily the collective national lexicon was transformed in order to include the words of our war; how every citizen became a military analyst.
To be sure, it was a frightening, tense time, and sadly, while I do not believe that we will have another war this summer, I'm rather inclined to believe that the regional situation is at least as bad as it was one year ago, and that important lessons have not yet been learned. Israeli society no longer believes or trusts its politicians to follow the right path, and Lebanon has not been this unstable since its civil war. Our soldiers are still missing, and we do not know whether they are alive or dead. Hizbullah is still entrenched in Southern Lebanon, and it is as though nothing has changed. Innocence is lost, replaced by cynicism and suspicion. There are no winners. We are all losers in this game, no matter which side of the border we live on.
And with that, I share with you the post that I wrote one year ago today - my first post about the war.
“Due to the security situation, all trains heading north will terminate in Acco. No trains will travel to Nahariya under orders from the Israel Police. The Nahariya train station has been closed. We apologize for any inconvenience this may cause.”
Granted, this announcement doesn’t affect me, as I am traveling south to Tel Aviv. That is, it doesn’t directly affect me. In a greater sense, it affects all of us here in Israel, a sign the times, so to speak. The situation is spiraling out of control at a frightening pace, and I feel like I just don’t know what to do with myself right now. Yesterday it was a series of attacks on the Northern border that left seven Israeli soldiers dead and two kidnapped into Lebanon. This morning a katyusha rocket slammed into Nahariya, killing one woman in her home and injuring tens of other people. Katyushas also hit near Mt. Meron. Israel has retaliated by hitting the international airport in Beirut and Hezbollah’s television station. Who knows what will happen next. Life is suddenly worse than it was a few days ago, and my pacifist persona has been abruptly shunted aside as I decide that nothing would delight me more than to see that arrogant smirk wiped off the face of Hezbollah leader Hassan Nasrallah, preferably by an IDF explosives expert.
I think of the bloggers across the Arab blogosphere who have afforded me the privilege of making their acquaintance, exchanging comments and emails as we work together to break down barriers, barriers put in place by those whose greatest fear is the discovery that we are all merely people and not the monsters they make us out to be. We may not always agree, but there is both a mutual respect and curiosity that we have chosen to embrace. Despite the actions of governments and organizations in our countries, we are trying hard to make our neighborhood a better place. Now, as I sit here on this train heading south, I can’t help but wonder, is it all for naught? It is so easy to forget the big picture as we focus on the relationships, the bridges being built. We share the same interests, the same tastes in food (who would have thought that sushi is so popular throughout the Middle East?), similar musical tastes. Thanks to these bloggers, I have learned about life in Jordan, in Lebanon, in Egypt, and so on. Never before have I been in a position to see a trip to Damascus as something normal, or to discover the excitement and beauty of Beirut.
Fantasy trips between Tel Aviv and Beirut have been planned (*and one year later, some have even fulfilled the fantasy), and we eagerly drink in each others’ words as we enjoy getting to know one another. It’s almost like a drug, and it’s so easy to become addicted, as we get sucked into a virtual world where disagreements still exist, yet borders are there to be traversed and not fortified. Then suddenly, reality comes crashing down as those with the real power make their presence felt through violence and destruction, and you wonder if your dreams of normalcy are only childish visions that will never come to pass. Are we being foolish? Is our bridge-building mere folly, a way to pass the time while allowing ourselves to think that we can somehow make a difference? I have no doubt that for the most part, we are all quite sincere in our quest, but while the perfect sunny skies of summer in the Middle East are tainted with falling rockets and fresh graves are dug in the cracked, brown earth, I cannot help but feel that we are all very small and insignificant as the Nasrallahs of the world show us who is really controlling the game of life.
Guess who's finally gotten her act together and started writing a blog? Woohoo! It's about time that everybody's favorite insightful commenter has set up a place of her own. No matter who the blogger is, I've always been impressed by the well-thought-out, detailed comments she leaves, and by her ability to remain calm even in the heat of battle. Oh, and did I mention that she's become a friend as well? Not only is the lady intelligent, but she's obviously got impeccable tastes...
This is definitely a blog to keep your eye on, folks.
As you have probably gathered by now, I'm a news junkie. It started in my teenage years, when a young Israeli woman (with whom I am still friends) from the town of Arad came to stay with our family for three weeks in the framework of a student exchange. I'll never forget how impressed I was that this 15 year-old Israeli was discussing politics and current events with my father, in English no less. At the same time, I was ashamed of myself for not being able to join in. Her visit was a turning point for me, as it was the catalyst that led me to start reading the newspaper and follow the news. I made the conscious decision to make myself aware of what was going on in the world, and it was a decision that had a great impact on my day-to-day life. I became more intense and found that I wasn't really interested in shallow small talk, and as much as it may have guided me towards certain friendships, I'm quite certain that there were people who were turned off by it, people who weren't interested in maintaining a friendship with someone who was so focused on such issues.
During my freshman year in university, I found myself going to various fraternity parties and other keg parties, as the early friends I'd made had been keen to attend, and frankly, I was curious. I discovered pretty quickly that it wasn't for me. In fact, I was pretty miserable during my first semester in school, until I found my niche. It took me a while to realize that I probably wasn't ever going to meet people who interested me at those parties, as the people who shared my interests weren't actually going to those parties. In the end, most of my friends turned out to be international students (or those with a keen interest in international students or issues), campus activists, and student government types, and once I'd begun to find these people, my life took a turn for the better. I much preferred sitting around discussing politics and current events to loud keg parties, and drinking coffee with friends was much more attractive to me than going to a bar and having to chat up strangers.
I tremendously enjoyed being a campus activist, enjoyed promoting various issues and taking a stand against others. I was proud of the fact that I was doing my part to make a difference; that I was taking an active roll in trying to shape campus life. I enjoyed supporting my student government friends (and also enjoyed going out to salsa clubs with them in the evenings, despite the fact that I have no rhythm and was a hopeless case, even though one of the Colombians showed extreme amounts of patience as he tried to teach me basic steps). I look back on my activist years fondly, and I suppose I'd have to say, judging by the contents of this blog, that I really miss those years, given how much I've written about various issues here, how frequently I've taken a stand. I feel lucky that I can use my writing skills as a tool to make people think about important and often controversial topics, that I can use my writing to promote various causes. I have a great deal of respect for a number of musical artists who also use their talents or their fame to help raise awareness for certain issues, whether it be Bob Geldof and Band Aid, or Midnight Oil, the Australian band particularly active in promoting environmental and indigenous causes.
Today's 80s Music Video Sunday song is Midnight Oil's "Beds are Burning". According to its Wikipedia entry, this song is "a plea for the land rights of indigenous Australians", a term that includes both the Torres Strait Islanders and the Aboriginal people, who together comprise approximately 2.5% of Australia's population. An amazing song on its own, but even more so because it has a message.
Beds are Burning Midnight Oil
Out where the river broke The bloodwood and the desert oak Holden wrecks and boiling diesels Steam in forty five degrees
The time has come To say fair's fair To pay the rent To pay our share The time has come A fact's a fact It belongs to them Let's give it back
How can we dance when our earth is turning How do we sleep while our beds are burning How can we dance when our earth is turning How do we sleep while our beds are burning
The time has come to say fairs fair To pay the rent, now to pay our share
Four wheels scare the cockatoos From Kintore East to Yuendemu The western desert lives and breathes In forty five degrees
The time has come To say fair's fair To pay the rent To pay our share The time has come A fact's a fact It belongs to them Let's give it back
How can we dance when our earth is turning How do we sleep while our beds are burning How can we dance when our earth is turning How do we sleep while our beds are burning
The time has come to say fair's fair To pay the rent, now to pay our share The time has come, a fact's a fact It belongs to them, let's give it back
How can we dance when our earth is turning How do we sleep while our beds are burning
I've decided to do something a little different with this week's 80s Music Video Sunday, which is certainly my prerogative, given that I'm the owner of the joint. I've been tagged by Life Out East (who is now back in the UK) to do a meme about music, and thinking about it, I realized that I could use the meme as a tie-in to 80s Music Video Sunday. As usual, scintillating commentary will be added as I see fit.
5 - You're going on a long journey, what five albums MUST you take with you? Albums that you need to listen to regularly.
Maroon 5's "Songs About Jane". This is one of only two CDs that I've purchased during the past few years. I love their sound, and I love all the songs on the album. I'd love to get my hands on their new album, "It Won't Be Soon Before Long", and I haven't even heard any of the songs yet. That's how much confidence I have in these guys. They're brilliant.
Santana's "Supernatural". I bought this album shortly after it was released, and it's one of the few albums I've ever listened to that actually sent chills up and down my spine. Absolutely amazing.
Vanessa-Mae's "The Violin Player". While not generally passionate about classical music (though it's definitely part of my collection), this album simply blew me away. It inspires me, and I've even discovered that when it's playing in the background, I can actually write faster. What can I say – the woman is incredible.
David Broza's "First Collection". David Broza has long been one of my favorite Israeli performers, singing in Hebrew, Spanish and English. I've attended a number of his concerts, and even had the (mostly) amazing experience of organizing one while attending university. Give the man a guitar and a stool to sit on, and he turns into a god. Back in the day, one of my friends put it best when she said during a performance, "my god! It's like he's making love to the guitar!" This album is a great collection of a lot of his earlier stuff.
"James Taylor Live". I have always loved the music of James Taylor, and especially connected with his references to New England and the Berkshires, an area where I spent a great deal of my childhood. His music just washes over me and relaxes me, no matter what my mood. Definitely one of the most talented singer-songwriters ever.
4 - What four albums/songs do you most associate with a journey or travel experience? You know, the ones you listen to that instantly transport you back to a place and time.
REM's "Green". During my sophomore year in university, I went away to Jamaica with friends for Spring Break. While there, we hooked up with a group of young cadets from West Point, and this was the album that we took to the beach with us every day. There may have been other albums, but this is the only one I can remember. We just kept flipping that cassette over and over, and never seemed to get tired of it.
A-ha's "Hunting High and Low". As I wrote back in this post, I broke my ankle shortly after arriving to spend a year in Israel after graduating from high school. While in the hospital, I listened to this album constantly, in order to block out the hospital sounds. It's probably what saved my sanity during my stay there.
Chava Alberstein. We have one of her collections at home, as the Husband is a big fan, and I got it for him as a birthday gift many years ago. I can't remember the name, but I will forever associate it with a road trip we once took in the US for a few days. We listened to that set over, and over, and over, and over again. To this day, whenever I hear any of the songs from that collection, I'm instantly taken back to that trip.
Depeche Mode's "The Singles 81 > 85". My serious Depeche Mode awakening came about during the aforementioned year in Israel. Their songs were playing in all the clubs, and I had a friend who was particularly keen on their music (to put it mildly). I bought this album (the version with the original cover) in Israel that year, and given how frequently I listened to it, I'm amazed that the cassette still plays. Whenever I hear any of the songs on the album, I'm immediately transported back to that year, to the dance clubs of Jerusalem, many of which, are undoubtedly long gone.
3 - Your three favourite songs of all time?
This one is definitely a tough one. Let's see if I can limit it to three...
"Mr. Jones and Me" by the Counting Crows. I love this song. It was this song that led me to all their other songs, and I could listen to it over and over again. It could definitely be an answer to the next question as well, but I don't want to double up, so I'm only listing it here.
"Unforgettable", the duet version from Nat King Cole and Natalie Cole. After we decided to get married, we were going nuts trying to come up with a song that we could use for the first dance. We didn't have an "our song" as such, and were trying to come up with something that worked. I went to visit a friend in New Orleans for a weekend, and while wandering around a shopping mall in the city, this song came on. I knew immediately that this would be "the song". And the rest, as they say, is history.
Shlomo Artzi's "Melech Haolam" ("King of the World"). It's a beautiful song about a mother and her young son, how she talks to him while she dresses him, telling him that he can be anything he wants to be because for her, he is king of the world.
2 - Two feel good songs, the ones that are guaranteed to lift the blues and put a smile on your face.
"Cliffs of Dover", by Eric Johnson. This obscure instrumental is one of those songs that seems like it was created for playing at high volume in the car during the summer with the windows rolled down. Check it out here. One of my apartment-mates was a music student, and she's the one who introduced me to the song.
1 - Absolute, overall, undoubtedly the best album of all time, in your opinion.
Hmmmm. That was definitely harder than I thought it would be, having to narrow down, leave things out, etc. Before moving on to today's featured video (drawn from the lists above), I think I'll tag the following folks: Beth, Raanana Ramblings, Lisa, and Anglosaxy. Oooh! I'll also tag (if one can tag after the fact...) TAFKA PP, as not only has she expressed interest over doing this meme, but we are also supposed to meet for coffee in the near future, and don't want the fact that I didn't tag her initially to cast a pall over the proceedings...
And now, back to our regularly scheduled blog feature...
After much deliberation, I've decided to go with REM's "Stand", taken from the aforementioned album Green. This song takes me straight back to that Spring Break in Jamaica, which was, without a doubt, one of the more interesting social experiences of my life. While I definitely had fun that week, I also realized just how much I wasn't cut out for the whole shallow party scene, something I'd pretty much figured out at that point anyway, but kept trying to deny. I've never been good at shallow small talk, never been a big drinker, and couldn't flirt to save my life. While I absolutely loved Jamaica (we even went there on our honeymoon) and for the most part had fun with the friends with whom I'd traveled, that trip was definitely one of the defining experiences of my youth, in that it helped me to realize who I'm not.
Stand REM
Stand in the place where you live Now face North Think about direction Wonder why you haven't before Now stand in the place where you work Now face West Think about the place where you live Wonder why you haven't before
If you are confused check with the sun Carry a compass to help you along Your feet are going to be on the ground Your head is there to move you around
Stand in the place where you live Now face North Think about direction Wonder why you haven't before Now stand in the place where you work Now face West Think about the place where you live Wonder why you haven't before
Your feet are going to be on the ground Your head is there to move you around If wishes were trees the trees would be falling Listen to reason, season is calling
Stand in the place where you live Now face North Think about direction Wonder why you haven't before Now stand in the place where you work Now face West Think about the place where you live Wonder why you haven't before
It all began two years ago today with this post, after my former blogging partner convinced me that I needed to start blogging again, following an approximately year-long hiatus brought on by my general inability to get my shit together multi-task on a grand level after the Little One was born. He even agreed to be my partner in crime, figuring that between the two of us, we would certainly be able to maintain a decent blogging schedule. We all know how that worked out. Despite our little "break-up", we've remained good friends, and he even helped me out with a minor blog emergency yesterday, when I suddenly realized that I needed to make an urgent change to yesterday's post but was nowhere near a computer. Two text messages and a phone call later, and I can safely say that my reputation has been preserved. It's amazing how the lack of a simple strike-through can send a writer into a tailspin...
Two years full of rants, politics, humor, and burn-out combined with more or less equal parts of cynicism, sarcasm and merriment (not to mention copious amounts of caffeine), and I'm astonished by how much this one little website has changed my life. It'sgivenmemanywonderfulnewfriends, includingseveralwhoIhopetomeetface-to-faceoneday (and for those of you who feel left out, this is just a short list. Obviously, I'd love to meet most of you, and I didn't include those I knewbefore I began blogging, or those regular commenters who don't have their own blogs).
Not only has this blog provided me with some pretty amazing people in my life, but it has also been a platform for getting my writing noticed, something I have always wanted to do, but prior to blogging, was never quite sure how to go about it. This blog has been mentioned in a variety of publications and other websites, and excerpts have been reprinted in a variety of venues. I have been interviewed for different websites, and thanks to posts I've written about bringing the Little One into the world, I've been asked to share my experiences for a book that is currently being written. I'm often in awe of all the places where links to this blog have turned up, and am honored to be included in the blogrolls of several well-connected, well-respected bloggers. This blog has led to various writing gigs, and I'd be lying if I didn't say I was both proud of and pleased with what I've managed to create. I'm also proud of the community that has developed (for the most part) and the exchanges that have taken place in the comment sections, despite differences of opinion. Even some of my regular commenters have managed to connect with one another, as evidenced by a recent meeting in Oslo between nrg and Rami (I have photo proof), who was in the city for a conference last week.
It hasn't always been easy, and there have definitely been times when I've considered quitting, times when I've wondered what I'd gotten myself into. Then I take an overall look at what I've accomplished both personally and professionally, and I think of the joy I've taken in writing many of the posts (peruse the "Favorite Posts" section in the sidebar to see those entries of which I'm most proud), and I know that at this stage, quitting is just not an option. Besides, it seems that I've got a few incrediblysupportive, amazingfriends who can be even more stubborn than me (imagine that!), and they always push me to continue and cheer me on from the sidelines (thanks, guys! you're the best!). So yeah, if I had to lay a wager, I'd say that you're definitely going to be stuck with me for the time being, for better or for worse.
So Benji is spending the summer as a unit head at our old summer camp, and quite frankly, I can't wait to hear all about it! Some of my greatest teenage memories are from there, whether it be hours spent happily on the softball field (proving that even though I was a girl, I could play better than most of the boys), folk dancing every evening after dinner, fighting over Fruity Pebbles during Shabbat morning breakfasts or choosing between the various "optional-mandatory" sessions (there were many sessions to choose from – attendance was mandatory but each person had the option to choose the one that sounded the most interesting, hence the name) held on Shabbat afternoons. I'll never forget the Saturday evening Havdalah ceremonies, when somehow, no matter how the weather had been all day, the days before, the days following, etc, it never ever rained, so we were always able to hold the ceremony outside, a record that held throughout five years of month-long sessions.
While I'm not really in touch with people I went to camp with (though interestingly enough, I've since made friends with people who were there around the same time as me, but whom I never met back in the day), I can still remember the good times we had and the closeness and comradery we shared, not to mention the friendly rivalries that existed between the geographical regions from which we'd each come (I remember the Texans as being, ummm, especially proud of their heritage, and being rather loud about it too! "The eyes of Texas are upon you, all the live long day..."). Shabbat was always a special time, starting with the Friday evening services and "Kabalat shabbat", prepared each week by a different group, and special dinners, followed by a short skit (again, prepared each week by a different group) and folk dancing, where, because it was Friday night and the camp kept the shabbat laws, we danced to the sounds of our own voices singing, so as not to break shabbat by using musical instruments or recorded music. Saturdays were relaxing, with prayer services in the morning and most of the day spent at leisure, aside from the previously mentioned "optional-mandatories". Saturday evening dinners (always dairy, as I recall) were followed by the singing of quiet songs (which were often preferred, as they involved a great deal of touching because everyone put their arms around one another's shoulders as we sang, and despite the somewhat spiritual atmosphere, when it came down to it, we were still a bunch of horny teenagers looking for any excuse to make contact with the opposite sex...), the aforementioned Havdalah ceremony (which involved a great deal of hand-holding), and a veritable orgy of folk dancing.
Some of my fondest memories of the camp years were the times spent with the Israeli Scouts – our sister movement. Every year, there would be several young Israelis in camp with us, as well as a group of Scouts who traveled around the country, performing at different summer camps and other Jewish venues (performances were similar to those of the army's entertainment troupes). The Scouts were an integral part of our summer camp experience, and I always enjoyed getting to know these amazing young people who shared their culture with us. To this day, I still have an official "Scouts" bandanna, given to me by a Scout nicknamed Solo in 1984. He had been my best friend that summer, and even though I never saw him after that, I've never forgotten what a wonderful friend he was and the special friendship we shared. I've occasionally tried to look him up during my years in Israel, but so far, without any success.
If I had to pick a favorite summer – and I'd be hard-pressed to do so, but for the sake of argument, let's say I was required to do so, it would have to be the summer we lived in tents. Each tent slept two people (single sex only, so don't go getting ideas into your heads), sat on a raised platform and had a few electrical outlets (hey – it was for a whole month, AND we were American teenagers!). I shared a tent with my friend Pam, with whom I had something of a love-hate relationship, as I recall. I don't remember specifics, I just have these vague memories of the occasional disagreement. One of the things I remember most about that summer was the tent next to ours. One of its inhabitants was a guy named Craig. Craig, in addition to being a champion swimmer (I believe he trained for the Olympics), he was a huge fan of the 80s group General Public. We always knew when Craig was in his tent because we could hear General Public being played (needless to say, tent walls are not very thick...). And so, due to the rather incessant playing of this duo's music (and a minor crush on Craig), I became a fan too. I acquired a copy of "All the Rage" and the rest, as they say, is history.
Tenderness General Public
I don't know when to start or when to stop My luck's like a button I can't stop pushing it My head feels light But I'm still in the dark Seems like without tenderness there's something missing
Tenderness Where is the Tenderness Where is it?
I don't know where I am but I know I don't like it Open my mouth and out pops something spiteful Words are so cheap, but they can turn out expensive Words like conviction can turn into a sentence
I held your hand Rings but none on your fingers We danced and danced but I was scared to go much further with it Just half a chance Make sure that one night you're here, but Next night you're not It always leaves me searching for a little
Tenderness Where is the Tenderness Where is it?
Whistling in the graveyard Calling up your girlfriend Just trying to make you understand You're squeezing the telephone like it was her hand No questions (so many questions) She's gonna catch you out boy It all seems so underhand Now hat she's the only thing that ever made you feel like a man, man Madman madman Tenderness Where is the Tenderness Where is it?
My parents grew up in the US against the backdrop of the World War Two. As such, like many other American Jews of their generation, their feelings regarding Germany were harsh at best. As a child of parents from this generation, I was brought up in a household with no German products, and my parents have never owned a German car. I can't recall my parents ever having said anything directly negative about Germany (they did not hate Germany, for instance), but all the same, I knew. I knew that we didn't buy German products because we would not spend any money that might potentially benefit those who may have had something to do with the Holocaust.
This "boycott", combined with a voracious appetite for books about children in the Holocaust, resulted in a strange curiosity about the Germany of today, which involved feelings of wanting to know more, while at the same time feeling slightly uncomfortable about wanting to do so. Whenever we had exchange students from Germany in our high school, I found myself attracted to their presence, but it was almost in a "forbidden fruit" sort of way, as though by reaching out and making friends I was doing something unusual and daring. Somewhere in the back of my mind lurked the possibility that somehow, my new friends may have had some connection to Nazi Germany, and this was exciting, for I felt that I was actively doing something to meet and beat my prejudices. And, as I discovered, my German peers were also anxious to cast off the dark skeletons of the past, to demonstrate that the grave sins of their ancestors were not their own. This was brought home to me one afternoon during the summer after high school graduation. I was out with a group of American and international students, including a number of German teens (and NRG, who just seems to pop up everywhere...). We were having a great time, laughing, joking and horsing around. One of the German students, a charming young man named Wolfgang (with whom NRG and her family are still in close touch), laughingly said to someone, "I'm going to kill you." Who among us hasn't said that to someone else at one time or another, right? Of course we don't mean it, and we often say it in a joking manner, which is, of course, what Wolfgang had done. One of the American girls in the group (who was clearly not the quickest bunny in the forest), jokingly responded with something to the effect of, "well, if you say you're going to kill me, you must be Hitler, because you're German!" I was completely and utterly shocked by her comment, and poor Wolfgang looked like he'd been physically slapped. I was horrified and embarrassed, embarrassed that someone could say something so stupid, embarrassed for Wolfgang, who was truly a nice, good guy. I don't remember what happened after that, but I don't think I'll ever forget that scene or how hurt our German friend looked.
I remember my first trip to Israel, and I was amazed to see all the Mercedes and BMW taxis and buses. Clearly, the Israelis were much farther along in dealing with their feelings regarding Germany than were the American Jews of my parents' generation. Today, many of the appliances in our home are German, and I've never thought twice about their purchase. I have never been to Germany, and was once asked during a job interview if I would have a problem flying to Germany periodically for business. I admitted that I had never been there, and privately wondered whether the slivers of my remaining emotional baggage would have a problem. I didn't get the job in the end, and I still haven't been to Germany (though not on purpose – it just hasn't happened).
As a result of growing up with this identity, hearing German being spoken was always something that stood out. Not in a bad way, but more like suddenly hearing something exciting, an unusual event (of course, I also felt this way when hearing Hebrew, and sometimes still feel this way when hearing Arabic outside of Israel). So of course, when, during the 80s, a number of songs were released in both English and the original German, I was quite drawn to them. I bought the singles (most likely in English), I felt a rush of adrenaline when hearing the songs in German. One of the songs became a favorite of mine, and the German version is today's feature video – 99 Luftballons (99 Red Balloons), by Nena.
99 Luftballons Nena
Hast Du etwas Zeit für mich Dann singe ich ein Lied fuer Dich Von 99 Luftballons Auf ihrem Weg zum Horizont Denkst Du vielleicht grad' an mich Dann singe ich ein Lied fuer Dich Von 99 Luftballons Und dass sowas von sowas kommt
99 Luftballons Auf ihrem Weg zum Horizont Hielt man fuer UFOs aus dem All Darum schickte ein General Eine Fliegerstaffel hinterher Alarm zu geben, wenn es so war Dabei war da am Horizont Nur 99 Luftballons
99 Duesenjaeger Jeder war ein grosser Krieger Hielten sich fuer Captain Kirk Das gab ein grosses Feuerwerk Die Nachbarn haben nichts gerafft Und fuehlten sich gleich angemacht Dabei schoss man am Horizont Auf 99 Luftballons
99 Kriegsminister Streichholz und Benzinkanister Hielten sich fuer schlaue Leute Witterten schon fette Beute Riefen: Krieg und wollten Macht Mann, wer haette das gedacht Dass es einmal soweit kommt Wegen 99 Luftballons
99 Jahre Krieg Liessen keinen Platz fuer Sieger Kriegsminister gibt es nicht mehr Und auch keine Duesenflieger Heute zieh ich meine Runden Seh die Welt in Truemmern liegen Hab' nen Luftballon gefunden Denk' an Dich und lass' ihn fliegen
99 Red Balloons Nena
You and I in a little toy shop Buy a bag of balloons with the money we've got. Set them free at the break of dawn 'Til one by one, they were gone. Back at base, bugs in the software Flash the message, Something's out there. Floating in the summer sky. 99 red balloons go by.
99 red balloons. floating in the summer sky. Panic bells, it's red alert. There's something here from somewhere else. The war machine springs to life. Opens up one eager eye. Focusing it on the sky. Where 99 red balloons go by.
99 Decision Street. 99 ministers meet. To worry, worry, super-scurry. Call the troops out in a hurry. This is what we've waited for. This is it boys, this is war. The president is on the line As 99 red balloons go by.
99 Knights of the air Ride super-high-tech jet fighters Everyone's a superhero. Everyone's a Captain Kirk. With orders to identify. To clarify and classify. Scramble in the summer sky. As 99 red balloons go by.
99 dreams I have had. In every one a red balloon. It's all over and I'm standing pretty. In this dust that was a city. If I could find a souvenier. Just to prove the world was here. And here is a red balloon I think of you and let it go.
I am a child of the 80s, a decade of contrasts. On the one hand, outstanding music (if you don’t like it, I don’t care), and on the other, fashion statements and hairstyles that would probably be best forgotten. I was reminded of both yesterday after discovering a wonderful link to hundreds of 80s music videos. I reminisced through viewings of Scritti Politti’s Perfect Way, singing along (quietly) to the Psychedelic Furs, and tapped my toes to And We Danced, by The Hooters, to name but a few. Aaaah, bliss. And of course, such joy is not limited to the music from my coming-of-age years, but also to the movies and the television shows of this gone-but-not-forgotten era. Who could forget such classics as The Breakfast Club, Sixteen Candles, and virtually every other Brat Pack film? What teenage girl didn’t envy Molly Ringwald for always beating the odds and getting the cute guy at the end? With half the population of the United States running around saying, “Whatchu talkin’ about, Willis?”, and the other half running around trying to figure out the words to “Pass the Dutchie” and “Come On Eileen”, the 80s were glory days indeed.
The 80s were happy, more innocent times, where no one worried about planes being flown into buildings, toxic white powder being sent through the post, or people not being able to accompany their loved ones to the airport gate. We wore our hideously loud, patterned (remember paisley?), oversized shirts with no fear, went preppie (remember the pink and green combo, Izod shirts with the collars up?) with no immediate concerns for our safety. They were good years for growing up. Our parents weren’t afraid to let us be outside after dark during lazy summers, nor were they worried when we wandered around the mall with friends, boys and girls eyeing each other over the 45s in the record store.
Oh, how the times have changed. Here I am, twenty years older and about a hundred years wiser, and to say that I’m troubled by the times in which we live would be an understatement. Today’s youth are far savvier than I could ever hope or want to be, robbed of their innocence at increasingly younger and younger ages. I long for the good old days, before violence became so normal, before drugs became so prevalent, before coffee became so expensive.
And now, it seems I may have to chance to go back, at least in a sense. Without me noticing, it seems that my twenty-year high school reunion has crept up on me, and will be held this summer. To my great fortune (though Husband is clearly less keen), it coincides with our annual trip to the US to visit family and friends, and I find myself greatly looking forward to the reunion events. I look forward to catching up with old friends, and to showing everyone how far I’ve come. I look forward to seeing how people have changed, who they’ve married, how they’re doing. I look forward to showing off my little family. Ever since the reunion was announced, there’s been a flurry of emails between old classmates, and the excitement is steadily growing. One thing that I find kind of scary is how many of them still live in the area where we grew up, how many of them are still friends who regularly spend time together. Some of them are parents of children who go to school together, and even run into each other at school sporting events. Some of them are high school sweethearts, miraculously still together twenty years later, which is just amazing.
I can’t wait to take this trip down memory lane, to remember the good times from my youth (while conveniently forgetting the bad times, of course!), to dance to the songs that we danced to twenty years ago, to laugh about simpler times and long gone bad hair days.
