At the Train Station

At the Train Station

Here are some pictures from the Tel Aviv University railway station, taken when I was there late last week.

Cell phone battery almost gone? Recharge here, for a fee:

A close-up of the machine and the various plugs for the various kinds of cellular phones:

An ad for the Israel Merchant Marine. Join and see the world!

The train station itself, looking toward the Tel Aviv skyline:

This photo has a story to go with it. As I was busy snapping pictures of the Tel Aviv skyline through the arch, I saw a young man walking toward me. I put down the camera for a few seconds, waiting for him to pass by. Instead, he got right in my face and starting shouting at me in bad, heavily-accented English: “Don’t you dare picture me! I’m a famous actor! Don’t you dare picture me!”

I thought to myself, If you’re so famous, what are you doing taking the train instead of traveling by limo? Aloud, I said, “I was taking pictures of the skyline through the arch. See?” As I showed him the view, I added, “I wasn’t trying to take any pictures of you. I don’t even know who you are.”

“Show me,” he said in a challenging tone. I was only too glad to do so, thinking—and perhaps hoping—that it would annoy this self-centered jerk even more to see that I was telling the truth, and that my photos weren’t about him at all.

I showed him the photos I had taken so far. He pointed to one and said, “I see myself here. Don’t you dare picture me! Give me the camera! Give it to me, or I will call the police!”

I thought for a moment of telling him that he was welcome to do so, or of calling security and telling them that this weirdo was trying to steal my camera. But since he hadn’t made any physical move toward me, I decided that he really was distressed, for whatever reason, about having his face in one of my photographs. So I said, “Look, I’ll delete it right here, while you watch.” I did so as he looked on. “See? It’s gone.” He walked away.

After taking a few deep breaths, I followed him to where he was standing among a small knot of people. Looking him straight in the eye, I told him calmly: “I perform professionally too, and there was no reason for you to behave the way you did. If you wanted me to delete the picture, all you had to do was ask. I was polite to you; you were rude to me.”

And I walked away. Behind me, I could hear his response, formed of supreme intelligence:

“Wot-evair. Wot-evair.”

Soon after that, a train arrived. I snapped this picture quickly, then got on.

After an uneventful ride, I arrived in Jerusalem in mid-morning. Here is the end of the Jerusalem railway line, with the hills and and sky in the distance:

Friday Felines

Friday Felines

Here are a bunch:

First of all, Her Ladyship’s baby blues—healed.

Next, some members of the cat colony at work. (More feline symmetry! How on earth do they do it?)

A treat in orange and green. (I didn’t go closer to the fence for fear that this orange-and-white beauty would run away.)

Finally, some graffiti from downtown:

The Friday Ark. The Carnival of the Cats.

Miriam Makeba, RIP

Miriam Makeba, RIP

Miriam Makeba, the well-known South African singer, died last Sunday, November 9, 2008, aged 76. She collapsed while giving a concert, which turned out to be her last.

The only song of Makeba’s that I knew, “Pata Pata,” was a part of my childhood. At both Jewish summer camps that I attended, it was a staple in the folk-dance repertoire, and even the efforts of our head counselor to remove it from our customary Friday night Israeli dancing eventually failed. We just liked it too much.

I still remember that 45-RPM recording with its strong opening notes. (Heck, I still remember the dance!)

As fate would have it, “Pata Pata” was the last song that Makeba ever sang.

You can listen to the original 1967 recording here.

I never knew Miriam Makeba, but she gave joy to my childhood. May she rest in peace.

Warning: Rant Ahead

Warning: Rant Ahead

A little while ago, I got an email that read, in part:

I’ve had your link posted for some time in the [company name withheld] directory on this page: [link provided] but so far you haven’t returned the favor.

I know that [company name withheld] will send your site a lot of visitors in the years to come if you will just take a few minutes and place a link to us on the link page of your site. After [deadline provided], we’ll be removing all sites that haven’t returned our link so please respond to me as soon as possible. [...]

Let me know when my link is posted and I'll upgrade your link to Premium status and get it to the top of your category!

This is the second message that I have received from this company. The first one was a cheery email notifying me that they had placed a link to my blog on their website and asking me to link to their site in exchange.

When I clicked over to the site, I saw right away that it is not a blog. It is the website of a business that, understandably, would like to increase its customer base. Out of curiosity I checked some of the other local blogs to which it had linked and saw that none of them had added a link to its website.

As my half-dozen readers know, I sell my CD over the Internet, and when I’ve advertised it on other blogs, I’ve either paid for the ads or received them in some other legitimate, above-board way. So I felt a bit annoyed. Businesses have every right to advertise. But a business asking for free advertising via an exchange of links? Nope, sorry, don’t think so. That would be as though I were endorsing their services, and since I’ve never used them, I can’t do that legitimately.

So I deleted the email without replying, figuring that the one who had written it would take my silence as I intended it: a polite but firm No.

Now I get the message that I quoted above... and let me tell you, it got my dander up. First, the writer gives it the following subject line: “Our Partnership.” Huh? What partnership? Is there something going on between us that I don’t know about? Did I sign the papers in my sleep? Then he tries to put a guilt trip on me, as if to say: See this nice thing I did for you, and here you’re not being nice to me back! Then he threatens, oh so gently, that if I don’t link back to him, he will remove the link to my blog that he put on his site, doubtless out of a pure, altruistic desire to bring more visitors to my tiny corner of the Internet.

Listen, Mr. Advertising Mogul: the reason I haven’t “returned the favor,” as you chose to put it, is because you did me none in the first place. You put up links to a number of local blogs, including mine, only as a ploy to squeeze free advertising out of their owners. Well, as you can see, I’m not falling for it, so if you want to remove your link to my blog, please go right ahead. In fact, I’d rather you did. I’m not sure that I want to be associated with a business that tries to skimp on its advertising budget. After all, advertising is a legitimate business expense. If you’re trying to avoid paying for it, then who knows where else you may be cutting corners?

Not only that. Let’s look at what you’re offering me in exchange if I should choose to link to your business: the possibility that over the next several years, people whom you don’t know at all may visit my site. This reminds me of how people sometimes ask my musician friends to play gigs for free, promising them “exposure” in exchange. It’s a fantastic deal for the one making the offer: they get excellent music for nothing, and in return the musician gets a promise that at some yet-to-be-determined point in the future, someone else—some nebulous entity whom the one making the offer has never met—may pay good money for his or her time, skill and expertise.

You know what my musician friends call an offer like this? “Dying of exposure.” And do you know they respond to it? You got it: No.

And not only that. I mean, come on, who are you fooling? If you have to turn to a tiny blog like mine for a customer base, how many visitors will you be able to bring me anyway?

So do me a favor. Stop with the guilt trip. It isn’t working, and in fact it’s doing the opposite. Stop trying to play on a relationship between us that doesn’t exist and never has, and go look for free advertising somewhere else. Or, better yet, find yourself an advertising firm and pay for their service, like a normal business. ’K?

Olive Oil

Olive Oil

Last week as I was on my way to work, I saw a woman harvesting olives just outside the industrial zone, which borders an Arab village:

Since I’ve gotten more serious about soapmaking, it’s become important to me to find a source of good-quality olive oil at a decent price. My latest quest developed into quite a story.

It started last week in the local market. I saw olive oil for lighting purposes on display for what seemed like a reasonable price—neither too high nor too low for that type of oil—so I decided to buy some. (I’ve used it before with good results.) I took it home and made a soap batch out of it, and got a lesson in caveat emptor (let the buyer beware).

A little background about soapmaking is in order here. When one makes soap with oils that are hard at room temperature, such as palm oil or coconut oil (and, of course, cocoa butter, which is rock-hard at room temperature), the finished soap will harden fairly quickly. When one makes soap with oils that are liquid at room temperature, such as olive oil and castor oil, the soap will take a bit longer to harden, but eventually it will.

This stuff... fuggedaboutit. If it were one hundred percent olive oil, within several days it should be soft but solid. But after almost a week, it’s still an unusable rectangular mass of mush.

The olive oil was adulterated, of course. Unfortunately, that’s a common enough problem here.

So I brought back the bottles of oil that I hadn’t opened yet and was able to trade them, in a less-than-satisfactory transaction, for oil of better quality. (I had no real choice in the matter, since many store owners here refuse to give cash refunds. But rest assured that I will be contacting the consumer protection authority.)

Then, it just happened that yesterday morning I saw an ad on a local email list for fresh-pressed olive oil... eighteen liters at a reasonable price. Since I had been given a gift of this oil last year (and had made great soap out of it), I jumped at the chance to buy more.

On the bus ride back, I sat facing an older man who was wearing the most fascinating silver ring I have ever seen. The thick silver wires that held its large, oblong white stone in place made the piece look as though it were alive. It was clear to me that whoever had made the ring was a craftsman who loved his work, and despite my desire to behave with good manners, I couldn’t take my eyes off it. Finally I asked the man whether he had made it himself.

He answered in Russian-accented Hebrew that he had, and added with a smile, “It’s nice that you notice these things.”

So we began a conversation, craftsperson to craftsperson. He asked me a little about soapmaking and explained a little about jewelry-making, mentioning that he gives lessons. (Oh, I would so love to learn. When I told him so, he said, “It’s never too late,” and added that the price of silver is currently low.) He mentioned that he also cooks and is looking for good-quality olive oil, so I gave him the number of the man who had just sold me the large container that was now on the floor between our feet.

Connections. I love connections.

Almost There

Almost There

Her Ladyship accepts some chicken from her human companion. If you look closely (or click to see a larger version of the photo), you can see the edge of her tongue:

Her baby blues are almost completely back to normal.

For a bonus, here’s Missy:

Kitty-on-a-tray: the dish I love to skritch!

The Friday Ark. The Carnival of the cats.

Trick or Treat

Trick or Treat

All right, yes, I haven’t celebrated Halloween in years. Nevertheless...

What can a song that Tom Lehrer wrote for the children’s program The Electric Company possibly have to do with Halloween, you may ask?

Listen patient-ly to the end and you will know.

Enjoy!

(It’s got a nice klezmer flavor, doesn’t it?)

Green Oranges in the Shuk

Green Oranges in the Shuk

Sometimes an image just jumps up and grabs you. This one did: the interplay between green and orange. Plus, I am crazy about the Mahane Yehuda market in any case.

Missy: Three Views

Missy: Three Views

Taking a nibble:

Peek-a-boo!

Here I am!

Her Ladyship is much improved. She will have to take medicine for only a few more days—for a total of two weeks since her eye injury was discovered—and the vet is pleased with her progress.

Wonder of wonders, Her Ladyship still likes me! (I haven’t succeeded in getting new pictures of her yet, but I will do it as soon as possible.)

The Friday Ark. The Carnival of the Cats.

It’s Still Not Too Late

It’s Still Not Too Late

... to vote in the American Presidential elections.

Head on over to Vote from Israel.

Good News

Good News

Excellent news, actually.

My friend told me that when the vet examined Her Ladyship this morning, he said that we caught the problem at the right time and that she’s going to be fine. Just a few more days of medicine (which my friend will be giving her now that she’s back), and that’s it.

I’ll post new photos of Her Ladyship as soon as I can get some.

Thank goodness. What a relief.

(Catch the 214th edition of the Friday Ark at The Modulator.)

Update on Her Ladyship: Improvement

Update on Her Ladyship: Improvement

Her Ladyship appears to be on the mend. She’s no longer keeping her eye closed, and though she’s unhappy about being kept indoors, she seems to be doing fine.

I have loved Her Ladyship since the first day I knew her, but over the past few days I’ve begun to discover how special she really is. When I administer her eye medications—eye drops followed by ointment ten to fifteen minutes later—she flinches and complains, but never once has she used claws or teeth. I believe that she wants to cooperate. I start out by petting and reassuring her, and then administer the medicine as quickly as possible. Then I follow up with more petting, tell her what a wonderful cat she is and how much I love her, and give her treats.

I’m going to call the vet early tomorrow morning and ask if I can take her in for a quick look, just to make sure that things are progressing the way they ought.

This is stressing me, I confess. I can’t wait till Her Ladyship is completely recovered and this is behind us. If all goes well, it should only be a few more days.

UPDATE: We have a follow-up appointment at the vet’s on Friday.

Further update, Wednesday, October 22nd: My friend is coming home a day earlier than she had originally planned, so at some point tomorrow my current cat-sitting duties will be over. From what I can tell, Her Ladyship’s eye is looking much better.

Expect the Unexpected

Expect the Unexpected

When my friend—the human companion of Her Ladyship and Missy—left yesterday for a business trip, she asked me to cat-sit. I agreed gladly. I’ve cat-sat for them many times before and see them frequently in any case. They trust me, and they know I love them.

When I headed over this morning to feed and check on them, I noticed that Her Ladyship seemed to be having trouble with one of her eyes. It looked like she had conjunctivitis, but I couldn’t be sure. I called my friend on her cellphone and left a message that Her Ladyship and I were headed to the vet.

Since I couldn’t find my friend’s cat carrier, I improvised with her market basket. Her Ladyship didn’t resist when I put her in, since this is the basket that she often jumps into for a ride home with her mom. (I’m sure that she was also feeling a bit sluggish because of her eye, poor thing.)

We caught a cab for the short ride to the clinic, to save stress for both of us. Once we arrived, there were a few patients ahead of us, so we settled down to wait. It didn’t take long until Her Ladyship was in the vet’s capable, compassionate hands.

She didn’t have conjunctivitis. She had a scratch on the cornea. Apparently, Her Ladyship, who is an indoor-outdoor cat, had gotten into a fight within the past day or so. “It’s a good thing you brought her in today,” the vet told me. “Without treatment, she could lose the eye.”

Though that made me shiver, Her Ladyship won’t be losing a thing. After bringing her back home, I headed straight to the pharmacy for the eye drops and ointment she needs. The vet showed me how to administer them.

He also said that Her Ladyship can’t go outside for a week, so she’s now an indoor cat. But not to worry: she has everything she needs indoors.

Here’s Her Ladyship being caressed by the vet after her exam. What a brave girl.

I’ll be checking on her frequently and giving her lots of love and attention, and of course her medication (and treats!). She’s going to be just fine.

UPDATE, October 24: Check out this later post. Her Ladyship is out of danger and is going to be fine.

It’s the Little Things that Get You

It’s the Little Things that Get You

Yup. The very little things.

I got my absentee ballot a few days ago. Today I voted and got it ready to mail. As I was about to affix the stamp—all the while congratulating myself for having bought a few stamps in advance for letters to the US in order to save myself more trips to the post office—I suddenly got the feeling that I ought to look up the current rates on the Israel Postal Service website and make sure that I had the right amount.

And wouldn’t you know it... the price of sending a letter to the US has gone up by the grand, enormous sum of five agorot. (For my overseas readers, an agora is one one-hundredth of a shekel.)

Which means that after work tomorrow (yes, I do have work tomorrow even though it is hol ha-mo’ed), I get to stand on line at the post office in order to buy a five-agorot stamp.

Sheesh.

Good thing I checked.

UPDATE: Turns out that the site was wrong, and the price went up by quite a bit more than five agorot. But no matter. I bought the additional postage and sent out my ballot (thanks to A. for signing as a witness that I mailed it today!), and that’s what counts.

Jerusalem Photos

Jerusalem Photos

Taken from a street in the Rehavia neighborhood. In the foreground, the Monastery of the Cross. In the background, the residential buildings constructed some years ago overlooking Patt Junction, where the Holyland Hotel used to be.

Some more pictures from around town are below the jump.

An election poster for Meir Porush’s campaign. I find it odd that he is using what looks like a cartoon caricature of himself instead of a photograph. I heard that the idea is to make him look less threatening, to convey the message that he’s a friendly guy even if he is Haredi. To me, a cartoon image of a candidate, regardless of who he is or what he represents, only makes the campaign looks like it is not serious.

A facsimile lock on the front of a building, near what used to be a locksmith’s shop. The shop is now gone, but the lock is still there.

Downtown Jerusalem at dawn. This reminds me of Wordsworth’s famous sonnet, except that Jerusalem doesn’t have a river, gliding at its own sweet will or otherwise.

Finally, the Central Bus Station as seen from Rehavia. (In the larger versions of this photo, the clock can be seen fairly clearly.)

Be sure to catch the next JPix Carnival, up this week at Leora’s.

Two Grays, One Tabby

Two Grays, One Tabby

The gray cat and the tabby cat are friends, possibly even related. The other gray cat is definitely a close relative. These cats are part of the colony that lives near a restaurant downtown.

(Click on the image for a larger version.)

The Friday Ark. The Carnival of the Cats.

The Market Calico

The Market Calico

This is the calico kitty who lives in the market. I’ve posted her picture here before. She’s spayed, appears cared for, is very friendly... but I would still love to take her away from all that.

The Friday Ark. The Carnival of the Cats.

Missing the Stop

Missing the Stop

I went to Zelig’s shiva tonight. (By the way, I find shiva visits terribly frustrating. The person I want to see the most isn’t there, and never will be again.)

The bus stop where I waited for the bus home is a bit strange—or, more accurately, the route gets a bit strange there. The bus turns onto the street (at one of the biggest intersections in the city, incidentally), stops at the bus stop, turns right and proceeds to go in a large circle. Some minutes later, it turns back onto the same street, but doesn’t stop at the stop this time. Instead, it turns left, up the hill toward the center of town.

Got that so far? Good.

So I’m waiting at the stop for quite some time, and when the bus I’m waiting for finally shows up, the driver catches my eye... and goes on by without stopping.

At this point I have a choice: I can wait twenty minutes for the next bus, or I can hike up the hill to the next stop and hope that I get there before the bus finishes its circle down below.

I decided to take the gamble and head up the hill. Luckily, I got there in time.

When the bus came, I got on and asked the driver: “Why didn’t you stop back there?”

“Go sit down,” he ordered.

I wasn’t having any of that. I insisted, “You saw me. You knew I was there. Why didn’t you stop?”

He ignored me.

All right, I thought. Act like a jerk, pay the jerk tax. Aloud I said, “I want your name and personal number, please.”

He pushed a button on his ticket machine and printed out a small slip of paper. It contained his employee number, but not his name.

I went to the bus company’s website and filled out a complaint form. We’ll see what happens.

The JPIX Carnival

The JPIX Carnival

The nineteenth edition of the JPIX Carnival is up at Me-Ander.

Batya, thanks for including so many of my photos!

(I hope to post more photos next week. This week, I just couldn’t do it.)

Zelig

Zelig

I used to joke with my friend Zelig Leader that he reminded me of the Woman of Valor of the last chapter of Proverbs, who “gives a portion to her maidens”—the able household manager who assigns them their daily tasks. It was Zelig who would email or call every month to tell me which section of the weekly Torah portion he wanted me to read at the special minyan—which became known in time as the Leader Minyan and is the forerunner of what is known as the “partnership minyan” today—that he, his brother and his son founded nearly twenty years ago. After I read, Zelig would critique my reading with a gleam in his eye and a smile, and I welcomed his corrections.

I loved to hear Zelig read Torah. He had a rare combination of great learning and a superb sense of humor. His plays on words—in several languages—were brilliant. He was a champion Scrabble player.

I used to call Zelig my birthday buddy. He and I were born on the same Hebrew date more than two decades apart, and as the seventh day of Passover approached, we would call or email to wish each other a happy mutual birthday.

Late last summer, Zelig emailed my reading instructions to me with a short note saying that he would not be at the minyan because of back trouble. Unfortunately—devastatingly—it turned out that what he had was not back trouble, but a serious illness... an illness that, after taking all his strength, took his life yesterday, the first day of Rosh ha-Shana.

I can still hear Zelig’s deep, distinctive voice in my mind. I can’t believe that from now on, my mind is the only place where I will ever hear it again. I can’t believe he’s gone.

(Zelig [r.] at the wedding of his son Ebn, August 2006)

May Zelig rest in peace, and may his family and friends be comforted.

Shana Tova

Shana Tova

I would like to wish everyone a Shana Tova u-Metuka—a good and sweet year.

See you after the holiday!

It’s Raining!

It’s Raining!

It rained last night and today, and it’s raining again now. It’s too dark for pictures, unfortunately, or I’d post some. Maybe tomorrow, if this continues tomorrow. Here’s hoping!

The first rain makes us very happy here. We go out on our balconies and smile at each other, like we did this afternoon at my neighbor’s place, where we had Shabbat lunch.

May we have lots more rain this season, in good and healthy measure.

Fuzzy Tummy

Fuzzy Tummy

Her Ladyship shows us some:

The Friday Ark. The Carnival of the Cats.

Two Photos from Downtown

Two Photos from Downtown

First, the Zohorei Hamah Synagogue in downtown Jerusalem, opposite the Mahane Yehuda shuk. The clocks feature Jerusalem local time and halakhic time (divisions of day and night based on sunrise and sunset times). The sundial is pretty accurate from what I could tell.

(Click on the images for larger versions.)

Next, an election poster for Meir Porush, a Haredi politician who is running for mayor of Jerusalem. The top legend reads (in my free translation): “A good attitude toward [or for] everyone: Meir Porush!” It shows all kinds of people from all walks of life and levels of observance who have one thing in common: they support Meir Porush’s bid to become mayor of Jerusalem.

Yes, it’s quite plainly an attempt to depict Porush as “everyman’s candidate”—literally. Look closely—eighteen photos, and not a woman in the lot.

A Visit to Rachel’s Tomb

A Visit to Rachel’s Tomb

Last week, when my friend was here visiting from abroad, we went to Rachel’s Tomb in Bethlehem. When I told the friend who had offered to drive us there that it had been fourteen years since my last trip, she warned me: “It’s changed a lot. You won’t recognize it at all.”

She was right.

The entire place is an indoor compound—or, as a friend of mine who is a tour guide put it, a fortress.

The sign stating “Kever Rahel” that was once outside the simple structure over the tomb is now inside the compound, just outside the hall that leads to the men’s section:

More photos and explanations below the fold.

The entrance to Rachel’s Tomb as it looks now:

Sandbags in a niche in the front wall:

A long hallway leads to the worship area.

The view from the women’s prayer area, into the anteroom:

The cenotaph, from the women’s side:

A niche for books—usually Psalms, though there is a special prayer to be recited at Rachel’s Tomb that was composed in the nineteenth century.

A well and a plaque honoring the donors—in this case, I believe, the Jewish community of Bombay:

A peek into the men’s section:

In the past, it used to be a custom for married women to use part of the material of their wedding dresses to fashion a curtain for the Holy Ark—called a parokhet in Hebrew—where the Torah scrolls are kept. This particular parokhet is made from the wedding dress of Nava Appelbaum, who was murdered together with her father, Dr. David Appelbaum, on the night before she was to be married.

The top of the inscription reads: “A bride forever.” It broke my heart.

On the way out, near the entrance to the building, is a ladder built into the wall with a trapdoor in the ceiling leading to the roof.

May the day soon come when we will be able to visit all our holy sites freely and without fear.

Cats and Jews

Cats and Jews

Two of my favorite things!

Haveil Havalim #183 is up at Jack’s.

The 63rd edition of the Bad Kittycats Festival of Chaos is up at Mind of Mog.

Where’s the Kitty?

Where’s the Kitty?

Can you find Missy?

Here she is, front and center:

The Friday Ark. The Carnival of the Cats.

Citizen Activism, Part 2

Citizen Activism, Part 2

I didn’t do it this time. It was my friend. (Well, I did have some part in it—I convinced her to complain.)

My friend—whom I called Zahava in a post several years ago because she has a heart of gold—arrived in the country recently for a visit. She rode from the airport in a popular taxi service that charges a flat rate for the trip.

Except that this time was a little different. The driver made everyone pay double because, as he claimed, the van was only approximately half full. He said that if they didn’t pay the extra amount, they would all have to wait a half hour for the next plane to come in so that the empty seats would be filled.

My friend, together with the other passengers, ended up paying more than twice the stated price for the ride from the airport to Jerusalem.

When she got here, she told me the story. I convinced her to complain, and the next day, she went to the company’s office downtown and did just that.

The company people told her that the ride costs a flat rate no matter how many people are in the van. They spoke with the driver, whose only defense was: “But she agreed to pay!” The people in the office weren’t having any of that. They gave my friend her money back and promised to deal with the driver.

Yes! Citizen activism rides again!

Haveil Havalim #182 Is Up

Haveil Havalim #182 Is Up

You can catch the current edition of Haveil Havalim in two places this week: Me-Ander and Shiloh Musings.

Thank you, Batya, for a great carnival!

Missy Discovers Bellyrubs

Missy Discovers Bellyrubs

My friend’s black and white cat, Missy, has just discovered how nice bellyrubs can be. Here she commands: “Rub my belly!”

Missy, I hear and obey.

By the way, Missy, you're so beautiful.

“Aw, shucks.”

The Friday Ark. The Carnival of the Cats.

Cool Stuff

Cool Stuff

A dear friend of mine is coming to visit next week. When she lived here about a decade ago, we used to go to the beach together a few times a year. At that time, I knew of a reasonably-priced kosher Chinese restaurant that was located on a street near the beach. On one of our trips I suggested going there. We went and enjoyed it very much.

When I spoke with my friend a few days ago, we made a date to go to the beach like old times, and she said that she would like to go to that restaurant again. But it had been so long since we had been there that I no longer remembered its name or where it was. I looked on a well-known directory of kosher restaurants in Israel, but it wasn’t listed there. Finally I tried typing the words “kosher Chinese restaurant” and the name of the street where I thought it had been into a search engine—and found it! It’s moved from its previous location, but it still has the specific dish that I enjoyed and the reasonable prices that I remember.

Still more reasons to love the Internet: this week, two friends from high school contacted me. One was a particularly good friend back then, and in all the years that have passed I have never forgotten her kindness and sweetness, offered so naturally at a time when I needed them very much. I wasn’t all that close with the second, but we were in choir together for years and I admired his singing voice a lot. I was surprised—and flattered—that he even remembered me!

The next cool thing combines two activities that are close to my heart, music and translation. Recently I translated some liner notes for a composer who is about to release a CD of some of his earlier work. (Sorry, but I can’t give any names or identifying details at this point. When the CD is out, I’ll mention it here.) As part of the job, the composer gave me a copy of the CD so that I could listen to the music described in the liner notes and provide a more accurate translation.

I had already listened to quite a few songs when I suddenly heard an upbeat introduction that sounded familiar. Suddenly I felt a jolt inside my mind, for a fraction of a moment it felt as though I could hear nothing at all—and then, within seconds, the entire song came flooding back to me, even as the recording playing through my speakers was still on its first several bars. This song had been on one of my tapes of Israeli music back when I was still living in the States, but with no attribution, so I had no idea who had composed it. It was one of my favorite songs at the time and I listened to it over and over, but when my lift was jettisoned from the cargo ship during my move here, the cassette went with it. Now, nearly twenty years later, I was listening to it on a CD that its very composer had given to me—and as if that weren’t enough, I was playing a small part in its re-release.

Cool, no?

Seven Years Later

Seven Years Later

We remember.

Never forget.

The Accidental Activist

The Accidental Activist

It’s only been relatively recently that Israel has passed stronger laws prohibiting smoking in public places and begun to enforce them. When I first visited this country in 1983, smoking was widespread just about everywhere. In fact, when I first moved here, some of the older buses still carried yellowing signs restricting smoking to the rear seats, even though smoking on buses was no longer legal by then.

Although these days there are better laws and more awareness of the issue, there are still plenty of places where people break the law. However, thanks to a shift in the law—it now assigns direct responsibility and issues fines for violations—the ordinary citizen can now do something about it.

(Before I go any further, let me say that I will not engage in a discussion of the pros and cons of anti-tobacco laws on my blog or in the comments section. Full disclosure: I have had asthma all my life, was forced to breathe second-hand smoke throughout much of my childhood and suffered terribly as a result. It is a tremendous relief to me that by law, I no longer have to depend on the goodwill of others in this matter, and I insist, without apology, on my right to smoke-free air wherever the law mandates it.)

Several months ago, I went to a local government office on an errand. Just before the entrance to the waiting room was a stairwell with two ashtrays on either side. One employee who stood there smoking informed me that this was the employees’ smoking area. As I walked through the cloud of smoke into the waiting room, I informed him that it was illegal.

Things were even worse inside. A senior clerk whose office door opened directly onto the public waiting area smoked in his office and allowed other clerks to smoke there as well. I found this out when the waiting area started to fill up with smoke. I followed my nose to the source and asked the clerks—more like told them—to put it out. Now, if you please. They glowered, but complied.

At that point, I saw a familiar expression on the faces of some of the other clerks. I know that look well, and I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve seen it, or heard people put into words the sentiments that it expresses. “It bothers me, too,” they say with sad resignation, “but there’s nothing I can do about it.”

The expression on their faces was the last straw. Maybe they couldn’t do anything about it—at least not without risking trouble on the job—but I could.

So I did.

The next time I went to that particular office, I followed the advice of the Israeli anti-tobacco organization, Avir Naki. (The site, whose name means “clean air,” is in Hebrew. I regret that they have no English-language section as yet, at least not that I could find.) I took a film camera with me (not a digital one; apparently, only film photos that are stamped with the date and time are acceptable for this purpose) and, when no one was looking, I took pictures of the ashtrays in the stairwell. I also got the name of the senior clerk who had turned his office into a smoking lounge—no problem there; it was on a plaque right next to the door. I filled out the complaint form on the Avir Naki website, got the film developed and headed to the Supervisory Division of the Jerusalem Municipality.

I had dates, times, locations and photographs, all nice and legal. I put them in an envelope, handed them to the uniformed police officer behind the desk and got a receipt.

Several weeks later, I received a letter from the municipality saying that they’d contacted the office in order to discuss the issue with the people in charge there, and that the problem was now solved. All right, I thought. I guess I’ll see for myself the next time I’m there.

The next time turned out to be this morning. When I got out of the elevator, I was met—wonderful to relate!—by clean air and the complete absence of ashtrays.

The clerk who dealt with me went out of his way to be particularly nice. After I left his cubicle and went on to the next thing I had to do, another clerk, the one whom I’d seen smoking in the senior clerk’s office, passed by. Recognizing me immediately, he asked me in a ringing, cheerful voice: “Does the smoke still bother you?”

I smiled at him, ignored the question and stuck to the business at hand. He, too, was very helpful.

Did they know that I was the one who had submitted the complaint? Maybe, maybe not. I hadn’t given a hint of my intentions, and the police say that they’re not allowed to give out the names of people who make complaints.

At any rate, it was good to see that in this case, a bit of citizen activism worked.

Oh, and I did the same thing at the building where one of my workplaces is located. I won’t say that it has worked perfectly, but the situation there is much better than it used to be. The ugly, smelly, hip-high sand-filled ashtrays that used to litter the halls, which the building management insisted were trash receptacles, have been replaced by real wastebaskets. Clean ones. With covers. And people now go outside to smoke.

Israel’s Most Wanted

Israel’s Most Wanted

Getting Tough: Israel’s Most Wanted, over at Jameel’s, tells what the Israeli rabbinate is doing about men who have fled their wives rather than give them a get (a Jewish divorce), without which they cannot remarry.

Maybe the Jblogosphere can help with this one.

Which is why I’m linking to it.

Resurrection among the Ruins

Resurrection among the Ruins

I was a guest at a bar mitzvah recently. The prayer service took place at the Western Wall, though not at the well-known plaza that was created after the Six Day War. (The Western Wall itself, a retaining wall for the Temple Mount, extends far beyond the plaza in both directions and several meters downward as well.) It took place at the archaeological site of Robinson’s Arch, where more and more families, including religious ones, are choosing to hold their celebrations because of its relative privacy, quiet, and lack of restrictions imposed from outside.

I personally find it difficult to pray there. As I wrote in my Tisha be-Av post two years ago, to me it is the site of Jewry’s 9/11, with the stones that the Roman soldiers hurled from the Temple, still black from the fire, piled beside the broken street. (The Roman soldiers smashed the paving stones of the street so that they could descend to the drainage channels beneath, which the Jewish fighters used in guerrilla battles and through which they later tried to flee.)

Some of the children at the bar mitzvah played among the piled stones, over their parents’ worried protests. One boy is more careful, and even a bit reflective. (Zechariah 8:5 comes to mind: “The streets of the city shall be filled with boys and girls playing....”) Behind him is the Western Wall.

A worshipper, wrapped in a tallit (prayer shawl), prepares for the service as a Torah scroll, also wrapped in a tallit, waits to be read in the shadow of the Western Wall:

The Southern Wall of the Temple Mount. Note the sealed gate at the top of the stairs.

A long view of the ruined street just beneath the Western Wall, with the family and friends of the bar mitzvah boy in the distance. (Note the construction at the Mugrabi Gate at the top of the photo. The familiar plaza of the Western Wall is just beyond it.)

New life sprouts near the ancient curbstones of the ruined street:

Yet even as I look at the ruins, I feel like shouting back two thousand years to the Emperor Titus: Nice try, fella. We’re back, we’re not going anywhere, and we show in our museums the rusty, crumbling stuff that you guys left behind.

Holy Cats!

Holy Cats!

A kitty at the Kotel, evidently coming back from prayers:

Missy in the window:

The Friday Ark. The Carnival of the Cats.