I'm home again after the usual 24+ hours travel, and I think it's safe to write again, now that my brain is working. As always, on returning from anytime overseas, I find that all that has happened has this dream-like quality to it; I feel as if I never really went away at all. Writing about stuff helps to fix it into time I guess, and makes it seem real.
So Israel is as awesome as ever, and the people are generally as crazy as ever, especially in Jerusalem, and I had a great time as ever, and I ate too much, as ever. In 3+ weeks I attended, in no particular order, an engagement, a Brit Milah, a wedding, an Opsheiren and a bar mitzvah; ate out at least once a day, and, on one memorable day, 3 times; met a long-lost relative; visited elderly relatives; hung out with 2 married kids trying to have D&M discussions about stuff; visited various institutions who either wanted to show us what our donations had achieved or would achieve, because they want more money to achieve even more; and spoke to about 20 other people representing 20 other organizations who wanted to meet us/show us their worthy efforts and how our donations would help them do even more worthy things. In other words, a typical visit to Israel. Is this a holiday? Yes. A vacation? In the sense of the word 'vacate', ie, time to do nothing? Nope.
Anyway, in this blur of activity a few things stick out.
Yad Vashem is amazing. Take a tour, whoever you are.
There are a lot of beggars in Jerusalem. Some wear tatters and shake a cup at you, some busk in the streets and some - most - wear suits and make appointments.
There are a lot of crazy people in Jerusalem. It either attracts crazy people or makes people crazy, probably both.
Snow in Jerusalem is remarkable (but as with all urban snow, awful when it turns into dirty slush).
Taxi drivers are all philosophers and experts on politics.
There is no such thing as an Israeli without a political opinion.
For a largely tourist-based economy, the quality of service everywhere is terrible. Even in the fanciest hotels, the cluelessness of even the concierges makes me wonder what the hell they teach them in hospitality school. Coffee shops and restaurants 'kal vechomer'. I think that the Israelis can learn one or two things from the Arabs, and hospitality would have to be one. If there is ever a great Arab tradition, that's it. My mother used to tell me that her father (born and raised in Tzefat) told her that when you were in the home of an Arab, he would treat you like a king. Never mind that once you left his tent, he might kill you, or you were a sworn enemy; in his home, you would be honoured. That's what they need to teach in hospitality school! (Not the killing bit, the honouring bit.)
Jerusalem is for everyone. Even in the days of the Beit HaMikdash the goyim (literally, the 'nations') were welcome to make sacrifices to HaShem and worship. And today, it is unbelievable who comes and tours. I guess they are all monotheists, pilgrims, whatever.
Groups of Africans in matching bright fabrics printed with the face of Jesus. (If you are going to print the face of Jesus on your clothes, you would think that whoever sewed the clothes would make sure that Jesus wouldn't be on the butt, but it seems in Nigeria etc they don't worry about that. Strange placements of the face of Jesus are pretty funny.)
A group of ecstatic Chinese dancing a hora with 2 soldiers, and singing 'Shabbat Shalom' last Friday night at the Kotel. I asked one young man where they were from: Beijing, Shenzan, other mainland China places. Then he put his hands over his heart, closed his eyes for a second, beamed a huge smile, and said 'Jerusalem...I love!'
Many years ago I was on Ben Yehuda St when a parade went by; Japanese pilgrims, the women all dressed up in kimono, playing piano accordions and drums and singing 'Shalom Aleichem', on their way to the Kotel to pray and dance. (Actually, and I'm not making this up, they were singing 'Heivenu sharom areichem'.) It was surreal. But stuff like that happens every day there.
Jerusalem...I love!
Monday, 28 January 2013
Tuesday, 22 January 2013
Big day out
Well, this day actually started the night before, a la Jewish custom.
Last night we attended a wedding in Ramat Rachel, a kibbutz in The Jerusalem area. But this is not your regular kibbutz like back in the day; no Gan Yerek, no Refet, no Lool. This is a hospitality kibbutz! There's a hotel with conference facilities and function rooms including a nice wedding hall. And that's how the kibbutz makes a living.
Anyway, the daughter of a friend married a boy, both Israelis, both what you would call Dati Leumi, pretty mixed bunch but overall religious types, about 500 guests, and many many young people and young couples and expectant mothers and little children. Lots of head wraps and big knitted yarmulkes and tzitzis down to there, where getting dressed up means wearing a clean pair of chinos and a crumpled white shirt, or a long cotton print skirt and multiple headscarves twined together into a turban, and dangly bead earrings. You get the picture.
The bride's younger brother is a young man with special needs, and although his verbal skills aren't great, his absolute joy in dancing at his sister's wedding was palpable. And overall, what with the young couples and kids etc, this would have been one of the most joyous weddings I have ever witnessed.
So this was before and after the chuppah. The ceremony itself was much as one would expect. There was solemnity at the bedecking -veiling- of the bride, with songs and prayers, just generally asking Hashem to hear our prayers. Then more dancing the groom to the chuppah. Then the bride circled the groom to the tune of the Alter Rebbe's Niggun. That surprised me because I thought that was Chabad turf, but no; it was very moving. You have to know the tune and hear it to get it. It was full of yearning, even with the band's bluegrass sort of take on it.
And then we sang as we do, Im Eshkochech et Yerushalayim; if I forget thee O Jerusalem. And after the chuppah everyone just went nuts and the dancing went on and on.
And I looked around the room at the mothers and babies and the other special needs kids who came, friends of the bride's brother, at the happy shining faces of family and friends, and I thought: we will live forever. We Jews will live forever, in Israel, in Yerushalayim. We love our life and our land and our G-d too much to give it up, no matter what the threats, no matter what the Romans and the Nazis and the Iranians did or do or say, no matter what the pundits in Tel Aviv say about the demographic and Yehuda-shomron, no matter what stance Obama might take. No matter what the anti-Semites and the self-hating Jews say or think: Am Yisrael Chai.
Then today, I visited Yad Vashem.
I hadn't seen the new museum although I had recently been to the art museum- yes, there is one there at Yad Vashem- and to the archives. And the old museum, years ago. So it was time to go. We had a brilliant guide who knew her stuff. Not surprising to learn that she is a child of survivors as are my husband and myself. Well, if you haven't been, you should go. We were there about 3+ hours and I can't say that I learned anything new, as I have certainly read and heard a lot about the Shoa and WW2. But the uniqueness of Yad Vashem is that it personalizes the Shoa. It isn't just an unimaginable number of 6 million Jews; it brings home just how each individual is a world. What might have been if Israel was around in 1938; it doesn't bear thinking about. 1.5 million Jewish children; what a different world we could have had if only they had been rescued.
There is also truly amazing footage taken mostly by the Nazis- how incredible that they documented their crimes so well for posterity- showing mass shootings of Jews in various places, among other outrages. And testimonies of survivors, one after another, constantly screening. Every f****ing holocaust denier in the world from Ahmadinejad down, needs to be dragged to Yad Vashem and forced to take the tour.
Anyway, it was pretty intense. And to top it all off, we then went to Har Herzl to visit the grave of my brother who was killed in the Yom Kippur war. By then it was dark but we found our way to the right place and said Tehillim by flashlight.
I should have started this post with Yad Vashem, then Har Herzl, then finished with the wedding; kind of like Yom HaShoa followed by Yom HaZikaron followed by Yom HaAtzmaut. But that's not how it happened.
So yes, it was a big 24 hours. And oddly, or maybe not so oddly, the first thing I thought on leaving Har Herzl was that I was STARVING. Then we went to a niece's place for a BBQ.
'They tried to kill us, we won, let's eat!'?
Life wins.
PS All this on the background of Election Day! It's not often the Israelis get a Sunday. That's what it was, a Sunday on a Tuesday. The line to the Zoo was miles long, the parks were full of families complete with portable grills and the air was redolent with the fragrance of charred meat. They're still counting votes, it's very close and who knows what will be. But boy did Israel enjoy a day off.
Life always wins.
Am Yisrael Chai.
Last night we attended a wedding in Ramat Rachel, a kibbutz in The Jerusalem area. But this is not your regular kibbutz like back in the day; no Gan Yerek, no Refet, no Lool. This is a hospitality kibbutz! There's a hotel with conference facilities and function rooms including a nice wedding hall. And that's how the kibbutz makes a living.
Anyway, the daughter of a friend married a boy, both Israelis, both what you would call Dati Leumi, pretty mixed bunch but overall religious types, about 500 guests, and many many young people and young couples and expectant mothers and little children. Lots of head wraps and big knitted yarmulkes and tzitzis down to there, where getting dressed up means wearing a clean pair of chinos and a crumpled white shirt, or a long cotton print skirt and multiple headscarves twined together into a turban, and dangly bead earrings. You get the picture.
The bride's younger brother is a young man with special needs, and although his verbal skills aren't great, his absolute joy in dancing at his sister's wedding was palpable. And overall, what with the young couples and kids etc, this would have been one of the most joyous weddings I have ever witnessed.
So this was before and after the chuppah. The ceremony itself was much as one would expect. There was solemnity at the bedecking -veiling- of the bride, with songs and prayers, just generally asking Hashem to hear our prayers. Then more dancing the groom to the chuppah. Then the bride circled the groom to the tune of the Alter Rebbe's Niggun. That surprised me because I thought that was Chabad turf, but no; it was very moving. You have to know the tune and hear it to get it. It was full of yearning, even with the band's bluegrass sort of take on it.
And then we sang as we do, Im Eshkochech et Yerushalayim; if I forget thee O Jerusalem. And after the chuppah everyone just went nuts and the dancing went on and on.
And I looked around the room at the mothers and babies and the other special needs kids who came, friends of the bride's brother, at the happy shining faces of family and friends, and I thought: we will live forever. We Jews will live forever, in Israel, in Yerushalayim. We love our life and our land and our G-d too much to give it up, no matter what the threats, no matter what the Romans and the Nazis and the Iranians did or do or say, no matter what the pundits in Tel Aviv say about the demographic and Yehuda-shomron, no matter what stance Obama might take. No matter what the anti-Semites and the self-hating Jews say or think: Am Yisrael Chai.
Then today, I visited Yad Vashem.
I hadn't seen the new museum although I had recently been to the art museum- yes, there is one there at Yad Vashem- and to the archives. And the old museum, years ago. So it was time to go. We had a brilliant guide who knew her stuff. Not surprising to learn that she is a child of survivors as are my husband and myself. Well, if you haven't been, you should go. We were there about 3+ hours and I can't say that I learned anything new, as I have certainly read and heard a lot about the Shoa and WW2. But the uniqueness of Yad Vashem is that it personalizes the Shoa. It isn't just an unimaginable number of 6 million Jews; it brings home just how each individual is a world. What might have been if Israel was around in 1938; it doesn't bear thinking about. 1.5 million Jewish children; what a different world we could have had if only they had been rescued.
There is also truly amazing footage taken mostly by the Nazis- how incredible that they documented their crimes so well for posterity- showing mass shootings of Jews in various places, among other outrages. And testimonies of survivors, one after another, constantly screening. Every f****ing holocaust denier in the world from Ahmadinejad down, needs to be dragged to Yad Vashem and forced to take the tour.
Anyway, it was pretty intense. And to top it all off, we then went to Har Herzl to visit the grave of my brother who was killed in the Yom Kippur war. By then it was dark but we found our way to the right place and said Tehillim by flashlight.
I should have started this post with Yad Vashem, then Har Herzl, then finished with the wedding; kind of like Yom HaShoa followed by Yom HaZikaron followed by Yom HaAtzmaut. But that's not how it happened.
So yes, it was a big 24 hours. And oddly, or maybe not so oddly, the first thing I thought on leaving Har Herzl was that I was STARVING. Then we went to a niece's place for a BBQ.
'They tried to kill us, we won, let's eat!'?
Life wins.
PS All this on the background of Election Day! It's not often the Israelis get a Sunday. That's what it was, a Sunday on a Tuesday. The line to the Zoo was miles long, the parks were full of families complete with portable grills and the air was redolent with the fragrance of charred meat. They're still counting votes, it's very close and who knows what will be. But boy did Israel enjoy a day off.
Life always wins.
Am Yisrael Chai.
Sunday, 20 January 2013
Oh, boobs.
Am I supposed to comment on David Koch's comment about breastfeeding in public, after some mum fed her baby by the side of a public swimming pool? How he is 'for breastfeeding' but that women should be 'classy' about it, ie. go away and cover up. I guess. Although he had no trouble judging bikini girl fashion on his TV show. Oh, what's there to say, the guy is a dick. That's my comment.
I can't stand the way this stuff throws breastfeeding in to the public consciousness. WHO CARES. In Australia, anyway, this fight has been already fought and won; women are legally entitled to feed their babies wherever they want. And no women I have ever seen or known show as much as a flash of flesh anyway. They don't hoick out a giant boob and wave it around. And even if they did, so what.
I am also much peeved at people who say things like 'oh, if it's so natural then why don't I just take a dump in public, that's natural too.' Yes, in 2013 there are people who actually argue this. To these Neanderthal ignoramuses I say, fools, breast milk is a secretion, not an excretion. Milk is a nutrient, not a waste product. Milk smells and tastes sweet and pleasant. So shut up. The end.
Back to Kochie. He may be a financial whiz but beyond that he is an ignorant schmuck. It's almost traditional to be outraged by him or to feel the need to mock him several times a year, if one could be bothered watching his drivelous morning show. The last time I had the misfortune to hear his opinions was during Cast Lead where he opined that Israel was using 'disproportionate' force in defending herself and in his irritating nasal drone said something like 'some of my best friends are Jews but come on!' What a dick, I repeat.
So that's my opinion.
Ladies, feed on. You are doing the best thing for your babies. Everyone else, be supportive or shut up. The problem is in your head.
Thank you.
Wednesday, 9 January 2013
Service with a smile, sort of.
I'm staying at a hotel right near Mamilla mall, which is an open-air shopping mall where Jordanian no-man's-land was before 1967. It provides a short cut from the Old City to Rehavia and thence the city centre. Mamilla (sometimes called 'mammeleh' because of the many well-heeled young matrons who frequent the many coffee shops in the warmer weather, with their babes enthroned in their Bugaboos (Boogaboos, as they say here) and other fancier European strollers) is a popular destination. In the warmer months it is packed almost around the clock. The demographic of the shoppers is roughly 60% tourists, of whom about a quarter are non Jews, and about 40% Arab Muslims. Yes, in mean old apartheid Israel, shops and restaurants are full of Jews and Arabs shopping and eating side by side. Nobody cares and everybody gets on. I will be honest and say that I haven't seem any (obvious) Arab shopkeepers or any shopgirls in hijabs but whatever. Plenty of be-hijabbed Arab girls in groups chatting and texting on their iPhones, and some with boyfriends, strolling along. Shmapartheid.
Anyway, since Mamilla is a few minutes away, it's not a big deal to brave the elements in order to find a cosy coffee shop, which is what Hubs and I did earlier today. He's jonesing for a bike ride but weather is too wet and cold so this would have to do.
Now anyone who has ever been in Israel knows that the Israelis are not service-oriented. They don't get it. Like the El Al flight attendant who offered a passenger dinner; when he asked her what was the choice, she answered 'Yes or No!'. Well hardeharhar, but things have improved some.
The shop is sort of annexed to a Steimatzky bookstore. We entered and browsed the shop and bought some books (for our grandson of course) and then nodded to the cafe guard who let us into the cafe. There was a waitress engrossed in something on the computer so we waited politely, like good Anglos, until the guard told us to just go in and sit down anywhere. The waitress then looked up and waved us to a table and we almost went to sit there until we noted that that whole section of the cafe had a few cms of water on the floor. These cafes in Mamilla have sort of tent annexes and the stone floors are contiguous with the actual pedestrian mall. And part of the tent had failed in the heavy rain. So we sat in a different- dry- part. There was heating and it was all warm and cosy so we took off our coats and scarves and hats and gloves and sat down. We ordered lunch. I wanted a cold drink. It took a while to come so we snagged a waitress and she all but rolled her eyes at us and counselled patience. It came. We ate. Then we ordered coffee and cake. Husband: Large latte, skim milk, VERY HOT. What sort of cake? Waitress: hot apple pie and ice cream, cheesecake etc etc. H: Does the apple pie have raisins in it? Me:(helpful) Tzimookim? Chashuv meod shezeh bli Tzimookim! (I was quite proud that I remembered the Hebrew word for raisins, you see.) It is vital that there are no raisins in the pie!
For my Other has this thing about raisins which I just don't get, but it is what it is. When he finds a raisin in anything you would think he had found a fly.
The waitress assured us, no raisins, just apples. So we ordered it to share and upon forking opening the fragrant steaming delectable pie, there it was. A plump golden raisin, nestled amongst the apple bits. Call back waitress. Point accusing fork at raisin. Waitress takes away plate and then returns with same plate and reassurances that chef said it was not a raisin but an apple piece which resembled a raisin. Camouflage. So we took it back and of course, on further exposure of pie contents, there were more raisins. We exchanged looks. What I would really have liked to do is call back the waitress and say in a no-nonsense sort of tone something like 'Anachnu lo freierim! Ken yesh Tzimookim!' We aren't suckers! there are indeed raisins here! But we, Anglos forever, just shrugged and shared the scoop of ice cream. Suddenly all the waitstaff kind of disappeared. Or maybe we became invisible. We were chatting about stuff and didn't really care anymore, but were interested in how this would end. We agreed we would pay for it anyway and leave a tip and not be 'principled' about it. When our waitress eventually returned she looked a bit sadly at the dissected pie with the exposed 6 raisins. I softly murmured 'ken haya tzimookim' and she nodded. 'No charge, sorry.' And offered another type of cake. But we were over it now and smiled our thanks and left a tip. Then I noticed that coffeehound spouse had left half his coffee. 'It wasn't hot'. Of course he had said nothing.
So they're getting there! Maybe next visit they won't argue about camouflaged raisins. And the coffee will be hot as requested.
Anyway, since Mamilla is a few minutes away, it's not a big deal to brave the elements in order to find a cosy coffee shop, which is what Hubs and I did earlier today. He's jonesing for a bike ride but weather is too wet and cold so this would have to do.
Now anyone who has ever been in Israel knows that the Israelis are not service-oriented. They don't get it. Like the El Al flight attendant who offered a passenger dinner; when he asked her what was the choice, she answered 'Yes or No!'. Well hardeharhar, but things have improved some.
The shop is sort of annexed to a Steimatzky bookstore. We entered and browsed the shop and bought some books (for our grandson of course) and then nodded to the cafe guard who let us into the cafe. There was a waitress engrossed in something on the computer so we waited politely, like good Anglos, until the guard told us to just go in and sit down anywhere. The waitress then looked up and waved us to a table and we almost went to sit there until we noted that that whole section of the cafe had a few cms of water on the floor. These cafes in Mamilla have sort of tent annexes and the stone floors are contiguous with the actual pedestrian mall. And part of the tent had failed in the heavy rain. So we sat in a different- dry- part. There was heating and it was all warm and cosy so we took off our coats and scarves and hats and gloves and sat down. We ordered lunch. I wanted a cold drink. It took a while to come so we snagged a waitress and she all but rolled her eyes at us and counselled patience. It came. We ate. Then we ordered coffee and cake. Husband: Large latte, skim milk, VERY HOT. What sort of cake? Waitress: hot apple pie and ice cream, cheesecake etc etc. H: Does the apple pie have raisins in it? Me:(helpful) Tzimookim? Chashuv meod shezeh bli Tzimookim! (I was quite proud that I remembered the Hebrew word for raisins, you see.) It is vital that there are no raisins in the pie!
For my Other has this thing about raisins which I just don't get, but it is what it is. When he finds a raisin in anything you would think he had found a fly.
The waitress assured us, no raisins, just apples. So we ordered it to share and upon forking opening the fragrant steaming delectable pie, there it was. A plump golden raisin, nestled amongst the apple bits. Call back waitress. Point accusing fork at raisin. Waitress takes away plate and then returns with same plate and reassurances that chef said it was not a raisin but an apple piece which resembled a raisin. Camouflage. So we took it back and of course, on further exposure of pie contents, there were more raisins. We exchanged looks. What I would really have liked to do is call back the waitress and say in a no-nonsense sort of tone something like 'Anachnu lo freierim! Ken yesh Tzimookim!' We aren't suckers! there are indeed raisins here! But we, Anglos forever, just shrugged and shared the scoop of ice cream. Suddenly all the waitstaff kind of disappeared. Or maybe we became invisible. We were chatting about stuff and didn't really care anymore, but were interested in how this would end. We agreed we would pay for it anyway and leave a tip and not be 'principled' about it. When our waitress eventually returned she looked a bit sadly at the dissected pie with the exposed 6 raisins. I softly murmured 'ken haya tzimookim' and she nodded. 'No charge, sorry.' And offered another type of cake. But we were over it now and smiled our thanks and left a tip. Then I noticed that coffeehound spouse had left half his coffee. 'It wasn't hot'. Of course he had said nothing.
So they're getting there! Maybe next visit they won't argue about camouflaged raisins. And the coffee will be hot as requested.
Graupel with chance of snow
Well, Jerusalem ain't so sunny right now. Heavy rains have also flooded the Modiin mall and the main highway in Tel Aviv. But- every cloud has a silver lining!- the Kinneret has risen about a half meter in the last 24 hours. This is good news.
And it turns out that there is no word for 'sleet' in Hebrew. 'Barad'- hail- well that's Biblical. Geshem, sheleg, ruach, seorah- like that old song- got all that covered. But what is this 'graupel' they keep going on about? No Israeli I asked could explain it. So I Wiki'd it, and it means 'soft hail or snow pellets'. So not exactly like sleet, which I experienced being blown into my face a couple weeks ago in NY; not the little needles, more like little pebbles being thrown into your face. Soft gravel. Graupel. It's a good word but I hope I never have to use it, or experience it, again.
It will snow later today and tomorrow and everyone's excited because basically it's Chofesh. The whole city shuts down. The buses stop, the schools shut, workers can't get to work. There is no infrastructure in place to deal with snow so cars skitter and skid across roads on an inch of it. It's comical to the Canadians and Russians, but serious stuff for the Jerusalemites! And whole families stay home and frolic in the 4 inches of snow, build snowmen and have snowball fights. Then I guess they go inside and drink Shoko Cham. So everyone loves snow here!
Provided there's no graupel. Then they still have to go to work.
And it turns out that there is no word for 'sleet' in Hebrew. 'Barad'- hail- well that's Biblical. Geshem, sheleg, ruach, seorah- like that old song- got all that covered. But what is this 'graupel' they keep going on about? No Israeli I asked could explain it. So I Wiki'd it, and it means 'soft hail or snow pellets'. So not exactly like sleet, which I experienced being blown into my face a couple weeks ago in NY; not the little needles, more like little pebbles being thrown into your face. Soft gravel. Graupel. It's a good word but I hope I never have to use it, or experience it, again.
It will snow later today and tomorrow and everyone's excited because basically it's Chofesh. The whole city shuts down. The buses stop, the schools shut, workers can't get to work. There is no infrastructure in place to deal with snow so cars skitter and skid across roads on an inch of it. It's comical to the Canadians and Russians, but serious stuff for the Jerusalemites! And whole families stay home and frolic in the 4 inches of snow, build snowmen and have snowball fights. Then I guess they go inside and drink Shoko Cham. So everyone loves snow here!
Provided there's no graupel. Then they still have to go to work.
Friday, 4 January 2013
Suckered again!
Sometimes I get sick of people commenting on how tired I look. I have had dark circles around my eyes since I was 9 years old, probably from reading under my bed covers with a flashlight when I was supposed to be asleep.
Being moderately vain of my face, which is compensating for the fact that my figure has always been a wreck, and time doesn't help on this score, I have been watching all sorts of spots and lines and sags just - appear. I've always used sunscreen, I've never smoked, but in the end, time and gravity win. So whatever skin treatment regimes I use, which seem to be getting more and more complex and expensive, in the end are probably worth bubkes.
I know all this. I KNOW all this. But it didn't stop me from buying yet another treatment 'for SERIOUS dark circles.' So OK, I actually had some airline vouchers for loyal fliers and it didn't feel like I was spending real money and they would have expired anyway. So it was sort of play money and I bought some cream to play with. This stuff sells for $150 or something. Now what I don't get is how this, and all the other things that create 'flawless complexions' and the like, can make these claims. Because they are in my experience, total lies. Total. What am I missing here? Why aren't they up for litigation for false advertising? Did they help anyone, ever? Did they ever erase a line? Smooth a wrinkle? Or fix 'SERIOUS dark circles'?
But I apply my new cream twice a day on 'clean dry skin' in 'circular movements' on the 'orbital area' feeling no 'warming effects' I am warned about, and I just keep hoping. Or do you have to actually believe in these things in order for them to work?
I don't even know why I'm bothering, it's not as if they're just dark circles.They've gone a bit 3-dimensional and are now dark pouches. And I'm not 9 any more. But please stop telling me how tired I look! I feel quite rested, thanks.
Being moderately vain of my face, which is compensating for the fact that my figure has always been a wreck, and time doesn't help on this score, I have been watching all sorts of spots and lines and sags just - appear. I've always used sunscreen, I've never smoked, but in the end, time and gravity win. So whatever skin treatment regimes I use, which seem to be getting more and more complex and expensive, in the end are probably worth bubkes.
I know all this. I KNOW all this. But it didn't stop me from buying yet another treatment 'for SERIOUS dark circles.' So OK, I actually had some airline vouchers for loyal fliers and it didn't feel like I was spending real money and they would have expired anyway. So it was sort of play money and I bought some cream to play with. This stuff sells for $150 or something. Now what I don't get is how this, and all the other things that create 'flawless complexions' and the like, can make these claims. Because they are in my experience, total lies. Total. What am I missing here? Why aren't they up for litigation for false advertising? Did they help anyone, ever? Did they ever erase a line? Smooth a wrinkle? Or fix 'SERIOUS dark circles'?
But I apply my new cream twice a day on 'clean dry skin' in 'circular movements' on the 'orbital area' feeling no 'warming effects' I am warned about, and I just keep hoping. Or do you have to actually believe in these things in order for them to work?
I don't even know why I'm bothering, it's not as if they're just dark circles.They've gone a bit 3-dimensional and are now dark pouches. And I'm not 9 any more. But please stop telling me how tired I look! I feel quite rested, thanks.
Thursday, 3 January 2013
Hinei Rakevet, hi mistovevet...
I am sitting on a train from Jerusalem to Tel Aviv and there is wifi and a power point to recharge my phone. Never mind that there are only two trains a day and it's almost empty. And not too clean. What a great idea! Do trains in Australia have wifi? I wouldn't know. Maybe on the long country trips? Anyone?
The train is not too speedy but that gives me the chance to see the very pretty countryside, green yet stony, olive trees and terraces and for all I know, she oaks and terebinths and wormwood. You would think that this country, which is as big as a postage stamp,is enormous. 'Eretz chemdah urechava', a broad and pleasant land. Broad! I come from Oz, now THAT'S broad.
There's even a river running in a ravine- ok a small ravine, a ravinette- alongside the tracks. A little river. Now we are passing a sandstone quarry. Vineyards. More olive groves.
I think of this as one of the paradoxes of Israel. We know how small this place is, just look at a map! On most of them you can't even write 'Israel' on the country, there's no room. Yet whenever I visit it takes ages to get anywhere. Partly traffic, partly winding roads, it's a mystery though. A broad tiny land.
More olives and fields, vineyards, a lake. To the right, more fields and a little town, to the left, forest. Ok, it is all on a small scale but it feels so roomy.
Some young guy in a knitted kippah just came through the carriage telling us that they are making a minyan for mincha. You don't see that on trains much.
They just made an announcement which I think means that my stop is next. I don't think I could have understood him even if he spoke English. This seems to be a universal problem, the incomprehensible train announcement.
Starting to look a bit graffitied urban wasteland now, high density living- but still there is a green belt of olive trees between the train line and the crumbling buildings. In between towns the electricity pylons march across the landscape of vineyards and orchards.
I think about another paradox; we hear again and again about Israel's economic miracle, the start-up nation, yet there are so many beggars and socially marginalized, so many outstretched palms and earnest letters from rabbis and doctors; the need is real. Soup kitchens and meals for Shabbat and destitute families. So many NGOs and charities. The economic miracle seems to have bypassed a lot of people.
Then I will take a taxi from the station and sit in traffic for who knows how long.
Maybe my next post will be on the paradox of loving Israel yet finding many Israelis and all Israeli bureaucratic institutions generally annoying and obnoxious? Hmm, maybe not.
The train is not too speedy but that gives me the chance to see the very pretty countryside, green yet stony, olive trees and terraces and for all I know, she oaks and terebinths and wormwood. You would think that this country, which is as big as a postage stamp,is enormous. 'Eretz chemdah urechava', a broad and pleasant land. Broad! I come from Oz, now THAT'S broad.
There's even a river running in a ravine- ok a small ravine, a ravinette- alongside the tracks. A little river. Now we are passing a sandstone quarry. Vineyards. More olive groves.
I think of this as one of the paradoxes of Israel. We know how small this place is, just look at a map! On most of them you can't even write 'Israel' on the country, there's no room. Yet whenever I visit it takes ages to get anywhere. Partly traffic, partly winding roads, it's a mystery though. A broad tiny land.
More olives and fields, vineyards, a lake. To the right, more fields and a little town, to the left, forest. Ok, it is all on a small scale but it feels so roomy.
Some young guy in a knitted kippah just came through the carriage telling us that they are making a minyan for mincha. You don't see that on trains much.
They just made an announcement which I think means that my stop is next. I don't think I could have understood him even if he spoke English. This seems to be a universal problem, the incomprehensible train announcement.
Starting to look a bit graffitied urban wasteland now, high density living- but still there is a green belt of olive trees between the train line and the crumbling buildings. In between towns the electricity pylons march across the landscape of vineyards and orchards.
I think about another paradox; we hear again and again about Israel's economic miracle, the start-up nation, yet there are so many beggars and socially marginalized, so many outstretched palms and earnest letters from rabbis and doctors; the need is real. Soup kitchens and meals for Shabbat and destitute families. So many NGOs and charities. The economic miracle seems to have bypassed a lot of people.
Then I will take a taxi from the station and sit in traffic for who knows how long.
Maybe my next post will be on the paradox of loving Israel yet finding many Israelis and all Israeli bureaucratic institutions generally annoying and obnoxious? Hmm, maybe not.
Tuesday, 1 January 2013
Bells and yells
And what a week it's been. A whirlwind trip to New York to meet my youngest son's kallah and her family, a vort, wedding plans as always like an express train, not enough time with kids and grandchildren, and boom, here we are in Jerusalem, recovering from 2012.
For it's now 2013, Jan 1, New Year's Day, or Sylvester as some older Israelis of European origin say; maybe Russians too. When I first heard the term Sylvester, I was 18 and all I could think of was Sylvester the cat from Loony Tunes. I didn't get it. Since then, I have learned that it is named after St Sylvester, a totally anti-Semitic pope of the Holy Roman Empire who served for 25 years, including at the historic council of Nicaea in 325 CE, where much Christian doctrine was thrashed out between bishops and established. Among other things, he convinced Emperor Constantine to forbid Jews from living in Jerusalem. So, not good for the Jews. He was canonised in the 16th century and given a saint's day of December 31. So happy Sylvester! Actually, this trip I haven't heard the term mentioned, it's all Happy New Year. But I like the irony of being in Jerusalem for Sylvester. Up your Holy Roman A**, Pope Sylvester!
There were fireworks over the Old City, inexplicably at 10pm. Then I heard several more rounds of fireworks, the last actually at midnight. I then managed to get a few hours sleep, being old and no longer so willing to party on NYE, before being woken by the amplified muezzins' calls to prayer, which seemed to go on a lot longer than I would have thought the faithful take to actually say the prayer. After another 30 minutes of snatched sleep, the Christians got into the act and there were bells tolling away. And then not long after, more muezzins. It was a conspiracy against the Jews, I tell you!
City of bells and yells, they say.
Now, to meet my daughter for lunch. City of great coffee and bread, too.
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