So what happened, Your Ladyship?
“Well, there I was in the garden, relaxing, minding my own business...”
“... when I suddenly had the feeling that it was too quiet. Something was wrong. Something was about to happen. I looked up...”
“... and bam! There she was. Before I could get my legs under me, she pounced on me out of the blue, the little imp.”
“See how she puts on her Little Miss Innocent act? Looks like butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth, she does... but don’t believe it for a moment! She’s evil! Awful! Diabolical!”
Your Ladyship, you were a kitten once. Don’t you remember what it was like?
“What, me? I never behaved like that, honest! I was a perfect kitten in every way!”
Sure, Your Ladyship. Whatever you say.
“Grrr. Kittens! I wish this one would go climb a tree.”
The Friday Ark. The Carnival of the Cats.
I just found a delightful Hebrew translation of the American baseball classic poem “Casey at the Bat” by Ernest Lawrence Thayer.
I particularly like the reference to the Yom Kippur prayers in the penultimate stanza. Wonderfully on target!
Has anyone told the Israel Baseball League about this? (Oh, wait—I just did!)
A sign directing hikers to the various parts of the new Hadassah Trail, which is reachable by bus from most parts of Jerusalem and, in my opinion, contains some of the most beautiful natural areas and views in all of Israel
For quite some time until several years ago, some friends and I—all of us young adult women from English-speaking countries—used to hike in the Jerusalem Hills a few times during the spring. Our favorite hike started from Tel Tzuba, went down the hill near the Sataf spring, through the Jerusalem Hills to another spring known as Ein Hindak, and then to Hadassah Hospital and back to civilization. We would usually hike during the Passover holiday and again on Independence Day, with an election day thrown in if there was one, since election day is a holiday in Israel.
At one point during one of our hikes, we noticed a fork in the path up ahead. We began wondering which direction we should take, and then began reflecting on the various directions that our lives had taken since we had made the choice to live in Israel. Someone commented that we had all taken a road that is not usually taken... and from there it was but a short mental hop to Robert Frost’s poem, “The Road Not Taken.” “Does anyone remember it?” one of us asked. A quick check showed that between us, we remembered most if not all of it. A tradition quickly developed: at some point during our hikes, one of us would recite the poem for the group from beginning to end.
Today, I went on a walking tour offered by the Association of Americans and Canadians in Israel (AACI). The route, which included part of the new Hadassah Trail, was very close to our old hike route. At one point, I stopped along the way to take some photos. After a few moments, I realized that the group had gone on ahead, toward a fork in the trail. They were still well within sight, but not within earshot... and as I walked to catch up, I watched as they took the path that went toward the left, back to civilization.
At that point, I couldn’t resist any longer. I invoked our group’s old tradition, reciting “The Road Not Taken” first silently and then sotto-voce, careful not to be seen or heard doing it lest anyone who saw me think I’d lost my marbles.
On the other hand, this was a hike sponsored by an organization dedicated to assisting immigrants from English-speaking countries... so it’s likely that they would have understood if they’d known.
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
This year’s arba minim:
(Read about the arba minim, or Four Species, here.)
Moadim le-simha!
Catschka stalks an unsuspecting Her Ladyship. Yowls ensue.
Catschka, what are you doing? You know you’re not allowed in the neighbor’s sukkah without permission!
Her Ladyship gazes...
... and Ms. Neighborcat visits.
The Friday Ark. The Carnival of the Cats.
I work in a translation office a few times a week, starting very early in the morning. As in 6:00 a.m.
Things there stay on an even keel most days. But sometimes, a little adventure waits among all that text.
This morning, it was a snippet of conversation between a journalist and a well-known Arab personality. The journalist mentioned security concerns, and the Arab personality responded with a rude and dismissive Arabic phrase to the effect that he was sick and tired of hearing about security. The language was pretty strong, but no matter how I may feel about what he said or the way he said it, it’s my job to translate it. And here was the conundrum. You see, while we’re committed to accuracy, we’re also a family outfit, and we prefer to keep our copy clean.
How rude was that phrase? you may ask. Well, in English it would go something like this: “Security, your sister’s [unmentionable body part]!”
Yup. That rude.
What to do?
I did what I always do when I find myself in a translation conundrum: consult with my colleagues. For a few moments, we were serious as we considered phrases that would satisfy the demand for accuracy, at least in spirit, while avoiding an unnecessary and potentially very troublesome descent into profanity.
And then, inevitably, came the laughter.
“Security, my foot,” one colleague suggested. When I heard that, I couldn’t resist suggesting a polite, archaic American expletive denoting the backside. “How about ‘Security, my Aunt Fanny’?” I answered, getting some giggles from our editor.
Finally, we settled on “Security, hell!” and moved on.
Want to hear some samples of my voiceover work? I’ve got links to some of them on my sidebar now—and also in this post.
Here’s a link to an online demo that I did for a product called Mighty Key.
Here’s the page at Tekhelet.com where you can see the video that explains the origins and traditions surrounding tekhelet, the biblical blue dye. I did the voiceover for that, too.
I also added a proper link to my photographs on Flickr. It’s about time, since I sold my first photo last summer.
Here’s the photo:
The rest are here.
There will be more links as I get them.
Ever have the feeling you’re being watched?
It’s likely not your imagination.
It’s Catschka the Yom Kippur Kittycat, making sure that we’ve all been good little girls and boys this year... so far.
Gmar hatima tova! (May you be sealed for good in the Book of Life.)
The Friday Ark. The Carnival of the Cats.
This morning, I went to my dentist for a cleaning. His office is located on an upper floor of a high-rise in downtown Jerusalem. For years, I’ve wanted to take a picture of the view. Today, I finally got my courage up and asked him whether I could take some pictures from the window. He said, “Go ahead.”
Yes, that’s the Dome of the Rock on the right, and if you look closely, you can see the gold spires of the Russian church to the left of it. Behind it is the Mount of Olives.
As I took the photos, I couldn’t help but say: “My kingdom for a wide-angle lens!”
Later today, I noticed a moth flitting about near a plant nursery. After it landed on a berry, I took out my camera and managed to get a few shots. This one came out the best, I think:
Yeah... I guess I hang out with flighty characters sometimes.
I wanted my last post of the year to be simply wishes for a shanah tovah—a good year. And of course I still do wish everyone a good year, but I can’t put up a cheerful post the way that I’d planned to do.
Maryam died last night after a long illness. The funeral was at noon today.
Maryam was a long-time member of our minyan. Her good friend (and mine), Zelig, died on the first day of Rosh ha-Shanah last year. And now, on the last day of the year, Maryam passed away.
It feels strange to say “Shanah tovah” when you’ve just returned from a funeral, particularly the funeral of someone who was still young, whose parents are, to the best of my knowledge, still living. What is going through my mind right now is the line from the old Hebrew hymn: Tikhleh shanah ve-killeloteha; tahel shanah u-virkhoteha—may the curses of the old year end and the blessings of the new year begin. May it indeed be a good year for us all, with an end to sorrow and with the blessings of peace and consolation and joy.
May Maryam’s family and friends be comforted, and may Maryam’s sweet soul rest in peace.
As I passed through the garden earlier today, Her Ladyship came over to me and asked to be petted. Then, when she’d had her fill of skritches, she posed, showing off her beautiful baby blues.
At one point, she took over my backpack. The fact that I’d been on my way out didn’t faze her at all. (To be fair, I didn’t complain, either.)
“I love you, Your Ladyship.”
“I know.”
The elm trees for which this blog was named were partially cut down yesterday and today.
It turns out that they were diseased and rotting. If they had been allowed to remain as they were, falling branches—some thicker around than an adult human being—could have caused severe injury or worse, God forbid. (At least one branch fell last year, lightly injuring one of the building’s residents.)
And so, we did what had to be done.
Here, a workman cuts down one of the trees in the adjacent yard:
Looking down from above at the truncated tree:
The same tree at ground level:
The view from just inside the front gate, with tree debris covering the sidewalk to a depth of several feet:
I’ll miss the tree with its magnificent canopy. I will particularly miss the wild parakeets that used to come and eat the seeds every spring. But I’m told that the tree will grow back. I hope it will, and that it will stay healthy when it does!
This past week, Catschka was given the freedom of the garden, under her human mom’s supervision. I got some pictures of her and of Her Ladyship as they frolicked (in Catschka’s case) and tried to get some rest (in Her Ladyship’s case).
Catschka, in a rare moment of rest, framed in greenery:
Her Ladyship likes to rest in the market basket... even when the market basket is being used for shrubbery clippings.
Her Ladyship likes to hide underneath my skirt. Here, she makes me look like I have a tail:
Catschka says, “Play with me!” Her Ladyship says: “I’ll stay right here, thank you very much.”
The Friday Ark. The Carnival of the Cats.
Last week, Google put up a doodle commemorating the four-hundredth anniversary of Galileo Galilei’s telescope.
That put me in mind of a song. It was written by my late dear friend Ray Scudero after Pope John Paul II reversed the Catholic Church’s decision to excommunicate Galileo. Among other things, Ray’s song satirizes the idea of papal infallibility, the idea that any human being has the power to condemn a soul to Hell, and, of course, the zealous thought-policing of the Inquisition, which Ray, a thinker and inventor himself, abhorred.
Here’s a look, through Ray’s eyes, at the conversation that took place when the devil got the call from Upstairs, telling him that it was time to let Galileo go:
“Hell-o,” the Devil said.
“It’s me, the Pope. How are you, Red?
“About Galileo, for a start....
“You see, we’ve had a change of heart—
“And we’re recommunicating Galileo.
“It seems that Heaven’s just where he belongs;
“That other Pope’s a real far-sighted fellow
“And we can’t suppose he’s guilty of any wrongs.
“Ah, Galileo!
“He knew your talents well
“And wanted research done on Hell;
“Hand your thesis to this angel
“And come along this way....
“So nobody can remand us for a blunder Vaticanus;
“Don’t try to understand us—we’re infallible, you know;
“We’re holier than any man on Earth today, with power to damn,
“And so, beware: we also can... make rules up as we go.”
But what really gives me pause is the last line of the following stanza, which is also the last line of the song:
I salute you, Galileo Galilei!
You’ve got your round-trip ticket after all;
And it’s heavenly and never more the hell-y
Unless someone new should override John Paul.
I believe that Ray wrote “Galileo Galilei” somewhere around 1992. In early 2008, a prestigious Italian university cancelled the visit of the current pope, Benedict XVI, over statements that he made in 1990 that appeared to condone Galileo’s excommunication.
Wow. Talk about farsighted.
(The complete lyrics to “Galileo Galilei” are here. The online archive of Ray’s songs is here.)
Her Ladyship and Catschka are getting along better these days... or maybe it’s just resignation on Her Ladyship’s part.
Sharing a drink (le-hayyim, ladies!):
Taking baths together:
The Friday Ark. The Carnival of the Cats.
Here are two photos of a lovely calico who lives in my area.
“I’m ready for my close-up, Mr. DeMille.”
She really does look like a model, doesn’t she?
The Friday Ark. The Carnival of the Cats.
Catschka chased a rainbow... and got one!
What are you going to do with it now that you have it, Catschka?
Ah, well, ask a silly question....
The Friday Ark. The Carnival of the Cats.
As I have written before, I have no problem with separate seating in the synagogue in and of itself. I do have a problem with women’s sections that exclude rather than separate.
Today I found another one: at the synagogue at the Malha Mall in Jerusalem. Here are some photos.
The main (read: men’s) section of the synagogue, facing toward the rear:
The women’s section—a separate room with its own entrance, with the wall facing the main synagogue replaced by a thick wooden lattice partially filled with what looked like opaque glass. Taken facing the rear:
Taken facing the front:
The centerpiece of the synagogue, an Renaissance-era Ark imported from Mantua, Italy:
The Ark as seen from the women’s section:
A view of the lattice from the men’s section:
A view of the lattice from the women’s section:
The entrance to the men’s section:
The entrance to the women’s section:
In my opinion—and I know that some people will disagree with me—the solution is not to do away with the mehitza. It is to make women’s sections an inviting, welcoming part of the synagogue.
Yet I suppose that we women should be grateful that there is a women’s section at all. As far as I know, the synagogue at the Jerusalem Central Bus Station still does not have one. (Follow-up post here.)
From On Women and Judaism: A View from Tradition by Blu Greenberg (preview the book here):
One evening, as I sat in a graduate rabbinic literature course, the professor departed from his explication of the text at hand to comment on an article that had appeared that morning on the front page of the New York Times about the Conservative Movement’s decision to count women in a minyan. “This Jew,” he said, in a tone not quite free of derision, “gets up in the morning. His five children start to get up, and all at once the house is in an uproar. Now he sets off to the synagogue for the early morning minyan. By the time he gets home, his wife has the children washed, dressed, fed, and off to school. The house is quiet again and he sits down to a peaceful breakfast and an hour of leisurely study. When he comes back in the evening from work, the place is in an uproar again. So he takes his prayer book and his Bible and goes off to the synagogue again. Now I ask you, what’s he going to do if his good wife has to go to the minyan?” This account was greeted by a sustained roar of knowing laughter.
On Women and Judaism: A View from Tradition was published in 1981.
Jerusalem, 2009: A poster encouraging men to attend a particular neighborhood synagogue, and encouraging women to enable their husbands to do so:
My free translation of the last paragraph of the poster from the Hebrew (please excuse the glare):
And you, Madame, have the ability to support your husband [in attending the early morning service at the synagogue]. Take upon yourself the morning tasks (waking the children and getting them ready for school, preparing breakfast and sandwiches, and so on). Your reward from the Almighty will be great if you do this. Amen.
Two things came into my mind when I saw this poster. One was: People know a good deal when they see one. If they can somehow boost that deal with promises of divine approval, all the better.
The second was: The more things change....
Catschka likes her new catnip-filled toys very much. Here she plays as Her Ladyship looks on, doubtless thinking, “Good. Those toys should keep her busy long enough for me to get a little peace and quiet!”
“’Scuse me, I can’t hear you. I have a banana in my paw.”
Good heavens, could they actually be playing a little?
The Friday Ark. The Carnival of the Cats.
