So How’s Hadi Doing?

So How’s Hadi Doing?

Thanks to my friend, her human mom, Hadi’s doing just fine.

She’s so much better since her recent visit to the vet. She’s gotten more affectionate, more trusting and more playful. Here are some photos of her enjoying some human company.

First, doing some kitty yoga:

Now, posing for the camera:

In all this, we’ve been lavishing love and attention on Her Ladyship:

After a cuddle, Her Ladyship curls up to sleep:

Her Ladyship and Hadi have met a few times, and Her Ladyship has yowled and hissed. But we’re not worried. She will get used to Hadi in time, and who knows? They may even be grooming each other in a few months’ time.

The Friday Ark. The Carnival of the Cats.

Bully at the Bus Station

Bully at the Bus Station

A young woman named Noa Raz was assaulted in the Central Bus Station last Tuesday for bearing the imprints of tefillin on her arm.

Here is the news story at JTA.

From Ms. Raz’s own account of the incident:

A few minutes after I got to the station, I noticed an older man, in Haredi garb, standing and staring at my arm. A few more seconds went by until he realized that his stare was not transmitting his message clearly enough. He leaned over towards me, pointed to the ruddy stripes on my arm, those that linger on the skin after taking off tefillin, and asked, “Tell me, is that from tefillin?” I ignored him, but he asked again: “Is that from tefillin?” Again, I ignored him, but he moved in on me, stood right in front of me, and again asked, in a loud voice: “Is that from tefillin?” I couldn’t ignore him anymore, so I looked at him and replied, “Yes. What do you want from me?”

To be truthful, I was sure that as soon as I would answer him, he would spit out some curse, turn around and leave. But I was mistaken, he had just started. He forcefully gripped my left arm and simply began kicking me. Of course, he didn’t forget to scream out a concoction of words such as “woman, abomination, desecration,” and more.

At first I just froze. I didn’t understand what was going on. But after a few moments I came to my senses. I struggled with him to free myself and ran for the bus that had now arrived. I felt completely alone. The place was not busy, but there were some people around. Some looked on with interest, others turned away. Only one woman shouted back at him, "Leave her alone, already." I don’t want to think what might have happened had I not managed to get away.

This is yet another example of the highly troubling, and increasing, trend of Haredi extremism here in Israel. I hope that the police are looking for the perpetrator, and that he will be prosecuted for his actions—just like anyone should be prosecuted for attacking someone else unprovoked. (Sorry to say, I’m not holding my breath.)

Since I can’t arrest that despicable bully myself and bring him to justice, here is my answer to him and to all who are like him:

A woman’s arm wrapped in tefillin straps, and her hand holding tzitzit, touching the Western Wall, Judaism’s holiest accessible site. (Come to think of it, a can of pepper spray or a Krav Maga logo might be more appropriate, but I don’t have a picture of either.)

My Latest Voiceover Work Is Up on YouTube!

My Latest Voiceover Work Is Up on YouTube!

A video produced in honor of the 130th anniversary of the founding of the Neve Horim home for the aged in Jerusalem:

Welcome, Hadi

Welcome, Hadi

My friend rescued a cat from her workplace about a week and a half ago. She had her spayed, brought her home, and took her for further veterinary treatment today.

Meet Hadia—Hadi for short.

My friend, Hadi’s human mom, tells me that both names are actually different words in Arabic. Hadia means “gift.” Hadi means “quiet,” which certainly describes this new little one.

For the first several days, Hadi barely stirred from her cushions on the floor of the closet where she chose to stay. Once she felt more secure, she began to explore her new room. Here, she sits in a regal pose. A rescue she may be, but she is definitely royal. Princess Hadi!

Hadi’s human mom and I are working to get her used to human contact. Here, Hadi allows me to pet her for the first time.

Hadi enjoys her new scratch pad. Look at her go!

After a vigorous round of scratching, Hadi takes a rest:

Hadi is recovering nicely from her visit to the vet, eating heartily and accepting gentle petting and cuddles.

Welcome, sweetie. Welcome, Hadi.

The Friday Ark. The Carnival of the Cats.

The Latest Batch

The Latest Batch

My camera’s finally back from the shop, and so: pictures!

(Profound thanks to my friend N., who lent me her camera for the duration so that I wouldn’t have to go through photo withdrawal.)

A window decorated with flowers and flags in honor of Israel Independence Day:

Passing a stopped train on the way from Bet Shemesh to Jerusalem. Since the route, which was built more than a century ago during the Ottoman era, is so narrow, a side track was built at the old Bar Giora station in order to allow the track to be used by two trains at once. The Tel-Aviv-bound train stops briefly on the side track while the Jerusalem-bound train passes it and the two drivers wave to each other—yes, I saw that!

Here’s the train parked at the Jerusalem station:

A display downtown to celebrate the 150th anniversary of the birth of Theodor (Binyamin Zeev) Herzl. This popular Israeli song (lyrics: Yankele Rotblit; music: Yair Rosenblum; vocals: Rivka Michaeli) was on the soundtrack as the display progressed:

Finally, a mirror image on a plant at Kibbutz Tzora:

Two Faces of Her Ladyship

Two Faces of Her Ladyship

Alert...

... and relaxed.

The Friday Ark. The Carnival of the Cats.

Happy Independence Day!

Happy Independence Day!

Some photos in honor of Israel’s 62nd anniversary:

Three women in an archway in downtown Jerusalem:

A scarlet pimpernel, very close up:

As I watched the horse and rider approach, the rider stopped the horse so that I could admire him. I held out my hand for the horse to sniff. Then I stroked him, and he dipped his head to me. His name is Blondie.

Finally, red, white and blue:

Hag atzma’ut sameah!

Memorial Day

Memorial Day

This post ran originally on May 1, 2006.

The deep crimson flower above has many names: red everlasting, cudweed, Helichrysum sanguineum. In Hebrew it is called dam ha-maccabim—blood of the Maccabees.

This is the flower that symbolizes the memorial day for Israel’s fallen soldiers and victims of terror attacks. On this day, which started just a few hours ago and which will end tomorrow night—ushering in the festivities of Independence Day—many people wear special stickers bearing an image of this flower and the Hebrew word nizkor—“We will remember.”

Last week we remembered the millions of Jews who were murdered before they could reach these shores. Today we remember those who paid the ultimate price for our ability to live here as free human beings and as Jews.

Actually, we always remember. Not a day goes by that we do not. But most of the time it is a private remembrance. Today it is a shared, public one.

Here are two of the people I remember:

Rafi, a young man from the Netherlands who was in the midst of his conversion process when I met him in the Sar-El volunteer program in 1991. He was killed in a terrorist drive-by shooting the day after Shavuot in 1994, only three months after he had been married, on his way back from a vacation with his wife at a Gush Katif hotel. One of the medics who tried to resuscitate Rafi recalled that the marks of his tefillin were still visible on his arm when he died. I was listening to the radio when the news broke, but because Rafi had changed his surname since we had last met, I didn’t realize he was the one who had been murdered until I saw his photograph on the front page of the newspaper the next morning. One of the last times I saw Rafi was at the annual Yom ha-Shoah memorial service at Yad Vashem. I was there with my ulpan class; he was there in IDF uniform as a Sar-El volunteer.

Sara, a member of my women’s tefilla group and the first of us to take a stand on wearing a tallit during our services. At her urging we held an evening of learning and debate about the issue. Well into the evening, Sara told us that she had to leave a little early because she was going on a trip to Petra with her fiancé early the following morning. We said goodbye and wished her a good trip. The next morning, the No. 18 bus on which Sara and her fiancé were traveling was blown up by a terrorist. It was February 1996. They had planned to go to Petra; they never even made it to the Central Bus Station.

Some years ago I learned that the essential oil of the helichrysum plant heals hurts and bruises. Since then I have wondered whether that might, on some level, however unconscious, have anything at all to do with the fact that this flower was chosen as the symbol of one of the most painful days in our calendar.

We go on... but we always remember.

Holocaust Memorial Day

Holocaust Memorial Day

This morning, after the siren, I thought about two people.

One was Mr. Bill Ahrens, my eighth-grade social-studies teacher. I don’t remember whether he was a World War II veteran, but for some reason I seem to remember hearing that he was. He taught our class a unit on the Holocaust, during which he showed us the film Night and Fog. It was extremely difficult to watch, but Mr. Ahrens told us that we needed to see it because one day, people would try to say that the Holocaust had never happened, and here, on film, was proof that it had.

The other person whom I remembered was a co-worker in the US who, more than twenty years ago, maintained that anti-Semitism was dead. (This was the same workplace in which another co-worker later defaced, with impunity, a poster advertising events in honor of Israel Independence Day.)

I would like to contact Mr. Ahrens today to thank him... and I would also like to ask my former co-worker whether he still believes that anti-Semitism—or, as I prefer to name it, Jew-hatred—is dead.

Some more posts:

Katie Green: The six million, this time around

Treppenwitz: Jewish Anti-Semitism

Meryl Yourish: Never again

Finally, a song. Lyrics: Natan Alterman. Music: Naomi Shemer. It’s called “Al em ha-derekh”—a tree stood at the crossroads. In the song, which takes place sometime during the Aliyah Bet period, a young mother sings a lullaby to her son, a baby too young to understand the terrible and tragic story that she tells him about why they are on a barely-seaworthy boat on a stormy sea, sailing to the Land of Israel... and why his grandfather is not on the boat together with them.

The song was performed by the Israeli navy’s entertainment troupe in 1972. The lead singer is Haya Arad.

The video above contains a slightly abridged version. The full version, complete with lyrics, is here. Another full version that shows Haya Arad and the Navy Entertainment Troups is here. The lyrics (in Hebrew) are here.

Cat on Tour

Cat on Tour

Actually, I was the one on the tour—a walking tour given by Dani Barkai, an excellent guide, and this is the cat I met.

She was thirsty, so I watered her.

Specifically, I poured water from my bottle into the palm of my hand and let her drink. (Of course, I couldn’t get a picture of that.)

By the time Dani had completed his explanation, the cat had drunk her fill and wasn’t showing interest in drinking any more water. So I grabbed a photo and headed off with the group.

The Friday Ark. The Carnival of the Cats.

A Visit to the Western Wall during Passover

A Visit to the Western Wall during Passover

Last Friday morning, my group, Women of the Wall, held a prayer service at the Western Wall.

As we arrived and walked into the prayer area—passing the male security guard who sat at the entrance—I noticed that the women’s section had been expanded slightly. The metal divider, which is partially open here, is the one that is in place all year round. The divider covered with white sheets is the new divider, which was put in place for the holiday.

The prayer service was great—pleasant, quiet, completely uneventful, the way a prayer service ought to be. Some of the women present wore tallitot (prayer shawls) and nobody noticed—or, if anyone noticed, they didn’t say so. There were no disturbances at all, and the peace and quiet were wonderful.

I took this photo right before Hallel. Afterward, the group proceeded to Robinson’s Arch for the Torah reading. (I didn’t go because I had to leave early.)

In my opinion, Friday morning’s service was yet more proof, as if we needed any, that Women of the Wall constitutes no disturbance of the peace or threat to public order at all. The threat and disturbance come exclusively from those who come to the Western Wall deliberately to make trouble and engage in violent behavior. I suppose that the troublemakers were on vacation last Friday morning, which was just fine with us.

Since my friend D. had to leave early, too, we left together. On the way out, she called my attention to the dividers that had been placed behind the prayer area, in the plaza itself. “I think I know what’s happening here,” she told me. “There’s probably a plan to make this entire plaza separate, with men entering from one side of the plaza and women from the other.”

I reflected that this wouldn’t be practical at all for families who wanted to visit the Western Wall. They’d have to split up well before they got there, with one gender going around to the parking area and the other coming down from the direction of the Arab market. This would make visits to the Western Wall practically impossible for families with small children or elderly relatives. But when have considerations of practicality, or even common decency, stopped people or groups who were hungry for power and control?

At any rate, here are the dividers in the plaza, behind the prayer area, complete with signs above them ordering men to one side and women to the other:

That wasn’t all, though. Before we left the plaza, I decided to head for the restroom. As I began to walk toward the stone buildings at the other end of the plaza where the restrooms for both men and women are located, D. stopped me. “They’ve moved the women’s restrooms,” she said, drawing my attention to the sign above the doorway where they usually were.

The sign reads: “Women’s restrooms in the parking area.”

So I turned back and headed toward the new, improvised restrooms. My friend said, “They’re probably messy and smelly.” I said, “They probably will be later in the day, but right now it’s still early. I’ll chance it.”

Of course, I also wanted to blog about them and post pictures. Here they are.

The improvised women’s restrooms, from the outside:

The signs seem pretty stern, saying: “Restrooms for women only.” My friend and I had to laugh. Why was it necessary to add the word “only”? As if the restrooms were unisex the rest of the year!

Inside the small improvised restroom compound:

The sinks up close:

Note that there is no soap, nor are there paper towels, as there are in the proper restrooms on the other side of the plaza.

So this is it: no soap, paper towels, hand-drying machines, counters, or changing tables. Because everyone knows that ritual washing cups are sufficient for proper sanitation, and mothers can change their babies on the stone floor.

Seriously: if it was so important to separate the restrooms by an entire plaza, then why couldn’t this improvised compound be for the men, and the women be allowed to keep the proper indoor restrooms? It would seem that in certain communities, chivalry is not only dead, but evidently never existed in the first place.

Here’s the exit, same as the entrance:

I was so happy with our quiet and uneventful prayer service... but so disheartened to see these additional changes in the Western Wall plaza. This does not bode well.

Whose idea was it? And who gave permission?

Now It Can Be Told: That Cat Can’t Stay Is Out!

Now It Can Be Told: That Cat Can’t Stay Is Out!

Out on the bookshelves, that is.

I’ve been sitting on my hands since last November, begging to be allowed to blog about That Cat Can’t Stay. As anyone who’s known me for more than five seconds knows, I’m a cat-lover. Actually, that’s putting it mildly. Try head over heels. Gaga. I often joke that my computer contains so many pictures of cats that the next time it needs to be serviced, I’ll have to take it to a veterinarian.

When I found out last November that Flashlight Press was going to publish a book about cats, I think I reacted like a kid who had just been handed a lollipop, or perhaps a giant-size chocolate bar. A picture book about cats—just for me! “Please, can I blog about it?” I begged the publishers, whom I know personally. “Not until it’s out,” they said. Well, it’s out! Finally! Now I can blog about it.

Mom found a little calico.
Dad said, “That thing has got to go.
There’s no use begging. Don’t say please.
I don't like cats. They scratch my knees.
They carry fleas. They make me sneeze.
They’re always getting stuck in trees.
I want it gone. Send it away.
I'm telling you, that cat can't stay.”

But Dad is a pussycat at heart, and after saying no at first, he changes his mind and says yes. To the delight of his wife and children, his family grows by cat after cat after cat after cat—all of them rescues—until the surprising ending.

Full disclosure: The people at Flashlight Press are friends of mine. (Yes, they still are, even after I pestered them about this book for months.) As readers of this blog know, I don’t advertise in my posts. True, this blog contains one advertising link to Jewish- and Israel-related topics, but I don’t use it for sales, and that’s not my intent now, either. I simply want to let cat-lovers know about That Cat Can’t Stay, a book that I watched come into being as I tried, with little success, to suppress my squeals over each illustration and rhyme. To be honest, I would blog about it even if I didn’t know the publishers at all.

I like to make connections... and I hope that my readers won’t mind if I make a connection between cat-lovers of the blogosphere and this book. The only benefit I’ll be getting from this post is—I hope—some happy readers enjoying That Cat Can’t Stay as much as I did, and do...

... and after all, sometimes cats enjoy being read to as well.

Women and the Torah

Women and the Torah

From last Rosh Hodesh, two women and a Torah scroll:

Flowers

Flowers

First, a close-up of a scarlet pimpernel, one of my favorite flowers that blooms during our all-too-brief spring:

A single blossom of wood sorrel growing from a stone wall:

Cats in the Neighborhood

Cats in the Neighborhood

Cat and lion:

A member of the cat colony downtown, outside the restaurant where staff members feed them:

Her Ladyship on the bookshelf:

The Friday Ark. The Carnival of the Cats.

Resting Together

Resting Together

A large red tabby rests in the grass together with a much smaller tortoiseshell cat. I got the feeling that they were members of the same family, and perhaps even parent and child.

The Friday Ark. The Carnival of the Cats.

Me and My Big Mouth

Me and My Big Mouth

Earlier this evening, I attended the demonstration against segregated bus lines in Jerusalem.

While everyone was still arriving, before the speakers began, the sound system was playing classic popular Israeli songs. After listening for some time, I realized that I hadn’t heard a single female vocalist. I approached one of the organizers and asked why no female vocalists were on the recording that they were playing. After all, this was a demonstration against forcing women to sit in the back of the bus... and the silencing of women’s voices is a subject close to my heart. “I’m religiously observant,” I told the organizer who spoke to me, “and I’m also a singer.”

“In that case, maybe we’ll have you sing ‘Ha-tikvah’ at the end of the demonstration,” she said.

And so it was. After the last speaker spoke, the emcee introduced me, and I got up onto the stage and led the crowd in our national anthem.

Me and my big mouth.

After Eighteen Years, a Piece of Paper and “Get Thee Out”

After Eighteen Years, a Piece of Paper and “Get Thee Out”

(with apologies to Sholem Aleichem)

Meir, who came to Israel from Uzbekistan eighteen years ago, set up a shoe-repair stall on Emek Refaim Street soon after his arrival. He’s been there ever since, a neighborhood fixture, working in his tiny shop between the post office and the bus stop. His shop is well-kept and its outside cheerfully painted. Whenever I bring Meir my own shoes to repair, his work is excellent and his prices are reasonable.

Now, after eighteen years, the municipality has refused to renew his business license. It will be closing down his stall after Passover as part of a city-wide gentrification project. Apparently, a conveniently-located, reasonably-priced shoe-repair shop is somehow not good enough for the image of Jerusalem that they want to project... just because it happens to be located in a stall rather than in a storefront.

I spoke with Meir today on my way to work and told him how sorry I was to hear what had happened. “What will you do?” I asked him.

“I don’t know,” he said. “I can’t afford to rent a shop in the city. It’s too expensive. It looks like I won’t be able to work.”

Why should Meir, and many more like him, have to face the possibility of losing their livelihoods for the sake of this project? And why should we, the neighborhood residents, have to do without him?

There has to be something that we, the citizens of this city, can do. I’ve already called a current member of the Jerusalem municipal council, who said that she would look into the matter. I also called a former member of the Jerusalem municipal council for advice and emailed the journalist who covers the municipal beat for the local English-speaking newspapers.

Does anyone have any other ideas?

Here are some photos of Meir and his shop. A view from the side, showing the painting:

A view from the front:

Inside the shop:

Computer Kitty Will Fix It For You

Computer Kitty Will Fix It For You

Computer Kitty, I’m having trouble with one of my peripherals. Can you help me?

“Sure. What’s the trouble?”

I’m having trouble getting this microphone to work. What should I do, Your Ladyship?

“I need to think about it for a bit. Can you skritch me while I think?”

“Of course.”

“You know what, Your Ladyship? Let’s forget about the problem for now. I think I’d just like to keep on skritching you.”

“That’s just what I was hoping you’d say. Oh, I’m so sleepy....”

“Good night, Your Ladyship. Pleasant dreams.”

“Thanks... zzzzzzz.”

I fixed the problem while Computer Kitty slept.

The Friday Ark. The Carnival of the Cats.

Around and About

Around and About

Early this afternoon, after I left work, I passed a local pizza place and saw several people in various kinds of army fatigues inside. Turns out that the six people were from five different countries: the US, Canada, the Netherlands, Germany, and New Zealand.

As they ordered their meal, I asked one of them whether I could take their picture—not posed, just candid. He agreed. That’s him turning to face the camera in the photo.

Now, outside on the terrace, enjoying their meal:

After I left, I checked out some wild plants nearby and found a bonus: a praying mantis! (Thanks to Phyllis for the correction.) The shot is slightly overexposed, but I like it anyway.