Monday, April 11, 2005

Of Past Professors and Poetry

The double dactyl, a fun and demanding poetic form, was invented by Anthony Hecht and Paul Pascal. Anthony Hecht later published a book of double dactyls together with fellow poet John Hollander.

Why am I talking about poets and double dactyls all of a sudden? you may ask.

Twenty years ago Anthony Hecht was my writing professor at the University of Rochester. I just found out that he passed away in October 2004 at the age of eighty-one. I never saw him again after his writing course ended, but I thought of him often and I’m sad that he’s gone. Barukh dayyan emet.

I felt a bit intimidated by Professor Hecht (as I still think of him even twenty years later)—he was, after all, one of the “big guns” in contemporary American poetry—but I used to love to hear him read aloud. He had a gorgeous, deep voice, and I can still hear him quoting from an ancient Greek tragedy in the perfect diction that held just a hint of his Brooklyn roots: “The best of all fates is never to have been born. ...” He had a fine wit and enjoyed challenging his students. I was delighted when I responded successfully to one of his challenges and managed to raise my grade a little at the same time. Heaven knows I needed the boost. Prof. Hecht was a tough grader.

His final exam was a bit unusual. At the beginning of the semester, Prof. Hecht gave us a list of poems to memorize, saying that if we wanted to write good poetry, we must have good poetry already in our minds. (With all respect to Prof. Hecht, in hindsight I am not sure this test was fair. I was lucky because memorization is easy for me, but I remember one student who was, and probably still is, very knowledgeable and an excellent writer but had difficulty memorizing text.) Since I memorize more easily by ear than by sight, I prepared for the exam by reading all the poems on the list into a tape recorder and playing the recording in my dorm room at regular intervals. In the end I did reasonably well, though I still felt a bit intimidated by Prof. Hecht, who was at one point the Poet Laureate Consultant in Poetry to the Library of Congress—in other words, the Poet Laureate of the United States.

It’s been a long time since I had much to do with poetry. But today I happened to be browsing Elisson’s blog and found the poetry he has been writing for National Poetry Writing Month. (If you haven’t visited Elisson’s blog yet, go there. He is an excellent writer and his poetry is fantastic. Funny, too.) Feeling a bit nostalgic for my former writing professor and also feeling a bit impish, I suggested that Elisson try a double dactyl. (That was unfair, I admit, since I’ve never written one myself.) Elisson responded by sending me a link to the double dactyls he has already written. I responded by pointing out pedantically that while the poems may be double dactyls in a technical sense, they don’t conform to the specifications set by Hecht, Pascal and Hollander.

So Elisson of the abundant poetic gifts and sparkling intellect promptly blew me away by writing one that did. Especially for me. By his kind permission, I include it here:

Yiddeldy fiddeldy,
Raheleh Jaskow, she
Skritches those kittycats
Each chance she get.
Cats in Jerusalem
Are not enough for her.
Ailurophiliac’s
Surfing the ’Net!

Wow! I think this is the first time anyone has ever written a poem for me. And me with a birthday coming up, too! (And a pretty significant one at that.) Thanks, Steve!

And thank you, too, Professor Hecht. Rest in peace.

UPDATE: I just wrote my first double dactyl today, inspired by and in honor of Ellison. Here it is:

Kittery cattery,
Steve of Blog d’Elisson
Writes double dactyls with
Sparkle and will.
Humor aforethought, he
Self-deprecatingly
Blows us away with his
Consummate skill.

(I even included an indirect allusion to his beautiful cats, Hakuna and Matata, in the first line. Just so they won’t be jealous.)

My first double dactyl. I hope it gives Professor Hecht a chuckle, wherever he is.

Sunday, April 10, 2005

Music, Music, Music

Israel has a thriving folk-music community with folk clubs that meet regularly in Karmiel, Tel Aviv, Jerusalem, Kibbutz Tzora (next door to Beit Shemesh) and, most recently, the south. If you like folk music, you’ll enjoy them all, and even if the folk genre is not your musical cup of tea, you’ll still enjoy the excellent musicianship and wonderful atmosphere.

The largest Israeli folk-music site is probably that of the Kibbutz Tzora Folk Club, which is lovingly maintained by Judy and Lynn Lewis. Their site includes a gallery of past and present performers from all over the world, including Israel. (Not all of us are expats, believe it or not!)

Although some of the various folk clubs have been in existence for close to twenty years, it has only been in the past five or so that members of the Israeli folk community have begun releasing their own CDs. (Names that come to mind right away include Ray Scudero, Sandy Cash and Jill Rogoff.) This is mainly due to two factors: the increased availability of high-quality recording technology together with the enormous distribution potential of the Internet. Most of us expat musicians sell our CDs at CD Baby, a wonderful on-line CD store located in Oregon.

And speaking of the Internet, this week several tracks from “Poor Working Slob,” an excellent CD of original music by my dear friends Joanna and Ray Scudero, are featured on Rich O’Brien’s Songwriters Internet Radio Show. Their segment is about two thirds in, but the entire show is worth hearing. Rich showcases three of my favorite songs by Ray: “Voyager,” a lyrical picture of the wooden gaff-rigged schooner on which his sister and brother-in-law live and travel the world; “Poor Working Slob,” a witty and affectionate look through a native New Yorker’s eyes at the people who live and work in New York City; and “Horizon Dawn,” a song about taking stock of one’s life.

So ... like music? Pull up a chair, lean back, relax and enjoy.

(Cross-posted on Israelity)

Maiden Voyage (or, I Think I Can)

Tonight I took the inaugural train of the new/old line from Beit Shemesh to Jerusalem. Was it exciting? Absolutely! Here’s a pictorial account of my trip.

The train, which started its run in Haifa at 8:50 p.m., arrives at the Beit Shemesh station at 10:07 p.m. (From Haifa to Beit Shemesh in under an hour and twenty minutes—not bad at all.)

The train arrives at the Beit Shemesh station

All aboard! I hug my friend goodbye and head toward the train.

All aboard!

The Beit Shemesh station from just inside the door of the train.

The Beit Shemesh station, taken from inside the train

On a walk through the train, I discovered that the engineer’s compartment was open. Several media correspondents were there, and the security guard let all of us in. The engineer’s name was Moshe, and he said he was very happy to be driving the train on its maiden voyage. (I apologize for the darkness of the photograph. I also hope to get pictures of the train’s breathtakingly beautiful route in daylight.)

The engineer’s cab by night

A view of the tracks from the engineer’s compartment as we approach the Malha station.

The view from the engineer's cab as we approach the Malha station

One of the Malha station signs.

Malha station sign

The train is temporarily parked on the tracks. Moshe, the engineer, is up ahead, about to get back on the train to drive it to Lod, where it will spend the night.

In Malha. Up ahead is Moshe, the engineer

The train leaves the station for the night.

Heading to park for the night

According to the man from Israel Railways with whom I spoke briefly, the train we traveled on was originally Swedish, and Israel Railways bought it used. Some of the cars still contain the original seats. This man was so up on his train models that he was even able to tell me the train’s original Swedish serial number. For train buffs, here is information on the rolling stock that Israel Railways uses. Most of the information is in Hebrew, but there is enough English to figure out quite a bit.

We traveled in an IC-3, one of the few models that can handle the hills leading to Jerusalem. “We could use other models,” the man from Israel Railways told me, “but then we’d need to use two locomotives up in front, what’s called a double-head. Unfortunately, we can’t use the double-decker model at all. It’s too heavy.”

Our train had nine cars. The average number is twelve, and the maximum permitted number for our particular model is fifteen.

The sparkling new Malha station ...

The interior of the Malha station

... and I’m almost home. Here’s the bus!

The bus home

Gotta go—the driver’s waiting. Good night and shavua tov (have a good week)!

(Cross-posted at Israelity)

Tuesday, April 05, 2005

Juiced Up

Grape juice is not an ordinary drink among religious Jews. Because of the sacramental significance of wine, all grape products, including vinegar and grape juice, are subject to special religious restrictions in order to be considered kosher. As a further indication of its special status, grape juice is not placed together with the other fruit juices on Israeli supermarket shelves. Instead, it is sold in the wine section.

When it comes to making kiddush on Shabbat and festivals, grape juice (as opposed to wine) is popular among families with young children, though plenty of adults prefer it too. There is quite a large market for the organic variety produced by Kibbutz Sde Eliyahu. There is also a cultural divide. My English-speaking friends drink grape juice gladly on Shabbat, while some older Hebrew-speaking friends of mine with roots in Eastern Europe were a bit surprised and amused when I brought them a bottle for Shabbat lunch. Grape juice? they chuckled. What, do you think we’re little kids?

Oops.

For years, the Carmel Winery has produced and sold two kinds of grape juice: red and white. Now they’ve expanded their line to include grape juice made from Merlot and Cabernet Sauvignon grapes, giving a classier dimension to a classic drink.

Fancy grape juice

The bottle on the left, with the red label, is Merlot. The one on the right, with the blue label (it looks purple in the picture), is Cabernet Sauvignon.

Hey, who said grape juice has to be boring? I can’t wait to try ’em.

Le-hayyim!

(Cross-posted on Israelity)

Thursday, March 31, 2005

At Last: The Lady in Red

Now that I’m finally able to take digital pictures and post them to my blog, I’d like to introduce my readers to a very special cat. I don’t know her name or even if she has one, so I call her the Lady in Red.

Meet the Lady in Red

For close to a decade if not more, the Lady in Red has been living at a local nursing home adjacent to one of the most beautiful parks in the city. She is well cared for and I believe she’s spayed because I have never seen her with kittens.

Whenever I walk through the park, I usually see the Lady in Red sitting on a bench next to an elderly person or near an adult with a child. She doesn’t demand attention or beg for food. She just sits quietly, offering her good energy to the world.

The Lady in Red waits for visitors

Sometimes she enjoys playing Hide and Seek.

The Lady in Red plays Hide and Seek

The Lady in Red and I have known each other for years. I look for her whenever I walk through the park, and it’s always a treat for both of us when she’s around.

Would you like some skritches, Lady in Red?

Kittyworship for the Lady in Red. Notice the black whiskers on the right side of her face

The Lady in Red enjoys a skritch

Ah, I thought you might.

Sometimes the Lady accepts a drink of water from my hand. Like I said, she is well cared for, but in Israel’s dry climate it is always good to offer water. The Lady purrs as she takes a drink.

The Lady in Red drinks water out of my hand

Once the Lady has drunk her fill, it’s time to wash.

Bath time

Satisfied that she is spotlessly clean, the Lady surveys her kingdom, looking much like her cousin, the lioness.

The Lady surveys her kingdom

The most striking incident in my friendship with the Lady in Red occurred about a year and a half ago, a few days after one of my closest friends died suddenly of a heart attack. Although a light, misting rain was falling, I decided to go to the park to be with my thoughts in nature. As I stood in the park I suddenly heard a loud meow at my feet, and I looked down to find the Lady in Red looking up at me in unmistakable command as if to say Sit down, please. I found a concrete bench that was miraculously not soaking wet, and the Lady in Red did something she had never done in all the years I have known her: she jumped onto my lap and stayed there as the rain fell. The rain didn’t faze her at all, and she made it clear that she would stay with me as long as I wanted her to. I hunched over her to protect her from the rain as long as possible, and when I felt the tips of her fur starting to get wet I said goodbye and left.

Like I said, the Lady in Red is a very special cat.

And being a cat is hard work. Time for a nap.

Time for a nap

P. S. Check out the Carnival of the Cats, this week at CathColl.net.

P. P. S. Thank you, Imshin.

Wednesday, March 30, 2005

Still Blah

I always say I’m too busy to be sick, but apparently my body believes otherwise.

I’m told that some pretty nasty bugs have been making the rounds over here, so I’m not sure whether this is a homegrown bug or something that stowed away with me when I came back from the States. Either way, my voice is just about gone, my head feels like it has a mattress wrapped around it and I’m probably a one-person germ factory by now. I figured it was time to call the doctor and say: This isn’t working; can we try another option, please?

So I called for an appointment only to discover that both my doctor and her partner are at a conference all day today. Which probably means that most of the other physicians who deal with this sort of thing are there, too.

Sigh.

Well, they’re entitled, and anything that improves the quality of medical service is a good thing. So I can’t complain. Not too loudly, anyway.

So my appointment’s tomorrow. In the meantime, I’m missing work, which I actually don’t enjoy doing. But my co-workers really don’t need someone around who sounds like a rusty hinge, has a sore throat and swollen neck making her irritable, can’t focus too well just now and has a germ output that’s likely off the charts.

Come to think of it, I don’t either. I think I’ll go back to bed.

Monday, March 28, 2005

The Blues

Woke up this morning feeling pretty blah. The doctor diagnosed an acute upper respiratory infection. Phooey. What’s so cute about that? (Sorry—couldn’t resist.)

On the way from the doctor’s office to the pharmacy and then home (fortunately they are all within walking distance of each other), I saw a bunch of scarlet pimpernels and took some pictures of them with my new toy, a cellular phone with a digital camera. Here’s one that came out pretty well:

Scarlet Pimpernels

Yeah, I know. If I want to take this seriously I need to get a better camera, one that zooms. One day.

So here’s one of my mistakes—a pretty traditional one, thumb in the lens—but you have to admit that the subject matter makes it worthwhile:

Kittycat with Thumb

Ah, kittycats.

Sunday, March 27, 2005

Waiting in the Wings

In honor of Purim, there were plenty of events on the downtown pedestrian mall today: clowns on stilts, dancers and singers, jugglers, you name it. But a surprise waited in the smaller alleyways leading onto the mall: three ponies who came, together with their people, all the way from a farm in the Sharon region, about an hour’s drive north of Jerusalem. When I met them, they were waiting for police permission to enter the main area.

Pony Waiting to Enter Pedestrian Mall

Ponies for Purim

Can We Go In Yet?

I’m sure they eventually got their entry clearance. How long could anyone resist these sweet ponies?

The Eucalyptus that Won’t Quit

Near my apartment building is a eucalyptus tree that’s been through it all but is still kicking. This tree can give some valuable lessons about surviving during challenging times. Though its top is shorn off and its bark is shaven, it still produces branches and leaves every spring.

Still Alive and Green Despite It All

Another extraordinary thing about this tree is that for years it has been home to a family of large bees, likely carpenter bees (though I’m not sure). In order to drive the bees away, the bark of the tree was shaved off, exposing the tunnels the bees dug to house their eggs.

Bee Tunnels

In past years, when I’ve investigated the tunnels—some of which are as thick as my thumb—I’ve been buzzed by a bee that came out of nowhere to guard her former home, but never stung. According to those in the know, bumblebees are peaceful and rarely sting. But then, these may be carpenter bees. The next time I see one over there, I’m going to have to get a look at its underside.

(Just in case you were wondering, Israel grows bumblebees. I don’t think we grow carpenter bees, though. At least, not on purpose.)

Purpletrees

All right, so the photograph is a bit blurry. But you get the picture: these are some of the jacaranda trees we have downtown, which a knowledgeable friend of mine likes to call by the whimsical name “Purpletrees.”

Jacaranda trees in downtown Jerusalem

(I’ll try to get some better pictures of them soon. I’m still pretty new at this digital photography thing.)

Friday, March 25, 2005

The Train, Boss! The Train!

Wonderful news: after a seven-year break, Jerusalem is about to get train service again. This train is the slower of two lines we’ll be getting and will take approximately 73 minutes to reach Tel Aviv, going through Beit Shemesh and other places. (The speed is slower is because this particular line uses the old Ottoman rail route, which is so full of curves that the trains cannot travel along it safely at full speed. There were many jokes about just how slow the old service was, one of which was that a passenger could leave the train during the trip in order to pick wildflowers and then re-board the train with no problem. In 2008 there will be a faster train from Jerusalem to Tel Aviv, which will take approximately half an hour to arrive.)

Here are two sites for more information: Jerusalemrail.org and Railnewsil.com.

This new service is a far cry from what there used to be (see Imshin’s post at Israelity for more details). Israel’s trains are clean, run on time and are just plain delightful.

(I must admit to a certain amount of bias. I happen to like trains. A lot. I’m especially fond of the New York subway system, which I rode quite a bit these past two weeks when I got to travel to the United States for the first time since I moved to Israel thirteen years ago. Also, when a good friend asked me what I’d like to do for a fairly significant birthday I have coming up next month, my answer was: a trip to the Israel Train Museum in Haifa. I kid you not.)

Seeing that it’s almost Shabbat, I’ll have to post about my trip to the States another time. For now, I think I’ll start making plans to ride the Jerusalem train on Saturday night, April 9, when it goes into service for the first time. Yesh!

What? I can hear readers asking. Ride the train to Tel Aviv and back just for fun? And when the bus takes so much less time?

Well, um, yes. Did I happen to mention I like trains?

(Cross-posted on Israelity)

Monday, March 07, 2005

Hello, Elijah Speaking

I refer, of course, to the biblical prophet Elijah, one of the major figures in the Book of Kings. He was renowned for his fierce stand against idol worship and his dramatic ascent to heaven in a chariot of fire.

But Elijah also has a gentler side. According to Jewish tradition, he is present at every circumcision. He visits every Jewish home toward the end of the Passover seder to take a sip of wine or grape juice from the special cup each household lovingly sets aside for him. And every Saturday night Jews sing a hymn asking that he appear to announce the arrival of the Messiah, heralding a time of peace and tranquility the like of which we have never seen on earth.

In Jewish folklore, Elijah the Prophet is a kind of Jewish Superman. (Or perhaps Superman is the American Elijah?) He is the one who steps in at the last possible moment, when the situation is desperate and there seems to be no way out. No task is too great for him, no method too dangerous, if it means saving the life or livelihood of a person in trouble. According to one story, Elijah once appeared in the guise of a prostitute in order to rescue an innocent man fleeing capture. In another, he built a palace by himself overnight in order to save the livelihood of a poor man. Elijah is also learned in all the secrets of the cosmos, though only a privileged few merit to study them together with the immortal prophet.

In every generation, including this one, people have their own stories to tell about meeting Elijah. All these stories have one thing in common: when things are at their worst, Elijah the Prophet appears to save the situation, giving people the encouragement they need to go on or just doing something nice for someone who could use a favor.

Does Elijah the Prophet really spend his time roaming the earth, seeking out people who need help? I don’t know. But I believe that Elijah is potentially every one of us. To put it another way, perhaps every human being is endowed with a spark of Elijah’s essence. At some point in our lives, someone may need help just when we happen to be able to provide it. And as soon as we take up the challenge we become Elijah, if only for a brief moment. That’s what I think, anyway.

Here’s an example. About fifteen years ago a newly observant friend of mine was in a bookstore in a small Israeli town. He wanted to buy a prayer book but was a bit short of cash. Another man who did not know my friend at all happened to be in the store just then and overheard the conversation between my friend and the proprietor. He rushed over to the counter, plunked down the remaining amount and dashed out of the bookstore before my friend could thank him. My friend was convinced that this man was Elijah. I agree.

Then there’s what happened to a close friend of mine just a few weeks ago. This extraordinary woman has been caring for her seriously ill husband for more than a year and a half. Unfortunately, during this time their financial situation has become quite challenging, to put it mildly.

Early one morning, my friend’s doorbell rang. Since she was busy taking care of her husband, she couldn’t answer right away. When she opened the door a short while later, she found a plastic bag tied to the screen-door latch containing hot, fresh bread and an unmarked envelope. The envelope contained a generous donation for my friend and her husband. There was nothing else, no note of explanation. Just the bread and the envelope.

As my astonished friend stood holding the bag, her phone rang. On the other end was a woman whose voice she didn’t recognize.

“Are you home?” the woman asked.

“Yes,” my friend replied, perplexed. “Who is this?”

“We left a bag on your door,” the woman said. “Did you find it?”

“Yes, but who is this?” my friend persisted.

“That’s not important,” the woman answered.

“Please, I would really like to be able to thank you properly,” my friend said.

“No, no, it’s really not important,” the woman said. “I just wanted to make sure you received the bag.”

“But I want to thank you,” my friend said. “Please, won’t you tell me who you are?”

“Friends,” the woman answered. “We just want to help. All the best to you.”

And with that, Elijah said goodbye and hung up.

(Cross-posted on Israelity)

Wednesday, March 02, 2005

Good News for the Cats of Katzrin

The cats of Katzrin have a new lease on life thanks to The Cat Welfare Society of Israel.

The Veterinarian Service Department and the City Council in Katzrin announced that there will be no use of any poison against cats in Katzrin and withdrew their intentions to use poison, as was previously expressed in their first announcement to the public and to the media. This decision came as a result of the petition that was served by the Cat Welfare Society of Israel at the Magistrates Court of Nazareth against the Katzrin City Council following the discovery of a rabid dog in the area. Instead of mass poisoning, the authorities will engage in steady activities of vaccinating and neutering/spaying of all cats in Katzrin.

My hat is off to the members of this extraordinary group and to performing songwriter Yehuda Poliker, who will be giving a concert to benefit Israel’s street cats and raise awareness of the problem.

(I saw a television program about Yehuda Poliker several years ago. At one point the camera focused on one of his cats, who was sitting on the floor beneath a table in his recording studio. Although no one was touching the cat, its eyes were closed in what looked like utter contentment, it was kneading with its paws and I could see its body vibrating with the force of its purr. I remember thinking: Wow. There must be some really good energy in that studio. I sure wouldn’t mind singing there.)

If you’re fond of cats, scroll down to the bottom of Yehuda Poliker’s page. This one’s a beauty.

And catch the concert if you can. Yehuda Poliker is an amazing performer, and it’s for a good cause.

(Cross-posted at Israelity.)

Sunday, February 27, 2005

Lifting Our Voices

Local singer-songwriter Sandy Cash expresses my own feelings on disengagement far better than I can myself.

I fear for my country. It’s not just the tragedy of “disengagement”—the recent adoption of a policy that calls for the total destruction of 25 Jewish communities. It's not even the fact that there’s no guarantee that this enormous sacrifice, far from having a positive effect on Israeli security, is expected to put more Israeli population centers within striking distance of Palestinian missiles.
No. What scares me is that this entire retreat process is being shoved down the country's throat without any real discussion.

She posted this article on her Israel Diary several days ago, and it is well worth a read. Especially now, unfortunately.

Friday, February 25, 2005

Bone Marrow Donors Needed

From the FolkDJ-L mailing list (posted with permission):

Dear Friends of PeterPaul & Mary who have been so kind and concerned about Mary:
As you are probably aware, Mary has been battling leukemia and we had hoped that the cancer’s remission would sustain. However, recently the cancer returned and therefore she has been admitted to a New York-based hospital for further treatment.
Notwithstanding this new unwelcome challenge Mary’s spirits are strong, her humor intact, and her determination to beat the cancer undiminished.
At this point her doctors are investigating the possibility of a bone marrow transplant and so we are reaching out to all of her many friends around the world to see if you might be generous enough to consider registering as a potential bone marrow donor. Your bone marrow might be a fit for Mary and if not you might be able do a great service for others who similarly need a transplant.
The National Marrow Donor Program offers the test to determine your blood and bone marrow specifics for free and can be contacted through Tel. 800-627-7692; an online form at the National Marrow Donor Program website; or mail to
National Marrow Donor Program
Suite 500
3001 Broadway Street Northeast
Minneapolis MN 55413-1753

Refuah shleimah, Mary.

Wednesday, February 23, 2005

A New Blog in Town

Israel21c has a blog! It’s a group effort with some familiar faces (well, virtual ones, anyway) from the Israeli blog scene.

I found the site through Imshin, whose item on riding the train in Israel is right on track (pun intended). I confess I have fallen in love with the Israeli train system and am ecstatic about the return of the Jerusalem train. (Actually, there will be two lines, but the faster one isn’t due for another three years or so. The slower line—via Beit Shemesh, with a travel time of approximately 73 minutes—is due to begin operation in about a month.) Like Imshin, I remember the old train ride from Jerusalem to Haifa and I didn’t like it much either, for all the reasons she describes (even if the views were stunning). But as she writes, train service here is much better now.

In recent months I have been on trains where employees actually walked through the cars, counting the number of passengers on little hand-held gadgets that clicked every time they pressed a button. At first it felt a little strange being counted like that, but then I was glad. The more passengers, the more trains.

Oh, right. I was blogging about Israelity ... but I guess I got sidetracked.

Heh.

It’s a ... Bird!

The first time I saw a Palestine sunbird, I thought it was a hummingbird. But despite its small size, it isn’t.

The males have gorgeous, iridescent coloring. The females are plain and brown, a bit like sparrows.

Last Shabbat, as I passed by an almond tree in full flower, I saw two Palestine sunbird couples flitting from blossom to blossom, chirping as they went. I could almost imagine that they were saying, “Hey, check out this one! Good nectar over on this side!”

I named them Fred and Wilma and Barney and Betty. They weren’t impressed.

A few months ago, I saw another Palestine sunbird couple outside a friend’s apartment building. The two birds were chittering loudly and I got the feeling that they were in some distress.

I wasn’t wrong. A few moments later I discovered a small orange cat lurking in the bushes just below them. He didn’t look too pleased to have his cover blown.

Palestine sunbirds are among my favorite birds. They’re absolutely beautiful and seeing one always gives a lift to my day. (Pssst ... wanna see one in action? C’mon over here.)

Tuesday, February 15, 2005

Slow Day

Today I finished making six eye pillows before heading to the shuk to buy more flaxseed to fill them ... and if I’m writing that up on my blog, you can bet that today was a slow day. And I really should be translating (at home, not at work).

In fact, I’ve been so preoccupied with work this week that I forgot to mention that this past weekend I spent a sweet and relaxing Shabbat at the home of David and Zahava of Treppenwitz. It was wonderful.

I have to confess that I always feel a little nervous the first time I stay at someone’s home over Shabbat. It has nothing to do with the people involved; I’m just a type that likes to sleep in my own bed. But any nervousness I may have felt was dispelled during the pleasant ride with David and Zahava. Almost as soon as we arrived at their beautiful home, they put on Mary Poppins for their little son Yonah. The tape happened to be in the middle of the film, so among the first things I heard in their home was Dick Van Dyke as Bert, singing: “On the rooftops of London:/Cor, what a sight!”

That was it. That’s my very favorite part of one of my very favorite films, and that was the moment I knew I’d come to the right place. And then there was the breathtaking view from the window of the guest bedroom, which made such an impression on me that I was almost reluctant to go to sleep. I could have gazed at it all night. Best of all was the pleasure of hanging out and shmoozing with David and Zahava, and meeting their older children, Gilad and Ariella, who sparkle—I don’t know how else to describe it. I even fell in love with their sweet-natured black Lab, Jordan.

I keep saying that I think the Internet is a modern-day miracle. Of course, as with anything else in life we have free choice as to how to use it—and if we use it correctly, we can do so much good in the world. Yet in my opinion the Internet’s most miraculous feature is its ability to connect people, both old friends and new. So blessed be the Creator for the miracle of the Internet—and, through that miracle, for the gift of my new friendship with the Treppenwitzes!

(Bogners, Rahel. Bogners.)

Monday, February 14, 2005

It’s Lighter Later

This is my favorite time of year in Israel. The days are getting longer, the flowers and herbs are sprouting and it’s mostly pleasant outdoors.

This afternoon I looked out the window and saw that it was still bright at 5 p.m. Every year at about this time I look forward to seeing the sun at that hour.

I just hope that the cold snaps are over, or that if we get another one, it will at least compensate us with some snow that sticks.

(Hey, I can dream, can’t I?)

Whom Do They Think They’re Kidding?

The riots in the northern village of Mughar this past weekend were sparked by rumors that Christian youths had pasted pornographic photographs of local Druze women on the Internet. Yesterday’s printed edition of Ma’ariv had two brief opinion pieces on the rioting. One, by a Druze public figure whose name currently escapes me, condemned the violence but at the same time pleaded with readers to understand the special Arab attitude toward women’s honor. The other, written by Zoheir Andreus, the editor of the Arab newspaper Kul al-Arab, was all too predictable: it blamed the Jews.

Regarding the former: come off it, Mr. Druze Public Figure; whom do you think you’re kidding? In Arab culture, women’s honor has nothing to do with the women themselves. It is merely a reflection of the honor of the men. If a woman has sexual relations out of wedlock or is unlucky enough to be raped, her entire family is disgraced and is often pressured to kill her in order to cleanse the stain on their honor. In some cases the wearing of a miniskirt and makeup is enough to draw a death sentence. The grim task of execution is often given to a minor because he will receive a lighter punishment, after which he will be able to return to his family as a free man. Rather a bizarre way of demonstrating respect for the honor of women, don’t you think?

We know that honor killings are the dirty little secret of Arab culture. Like spousal or child abuse in western countries, everyone knows it goes on but no one likes to talk about it. A few months ago Israeli Arab members of the Knesset were guests on a political television program. The topic was the phenomenon of Arab men pretending to be Jewish in order to pick up Jewish women whom they took back to their villages and married, sometimes without letting the women know that they already had wives. Every time the program host tried to speak, the Israeli Arab MKs methodically shouted him down, accusing him of smearing all Arab men and demanding that he also show examples of Jewish men who had committed similar offenses.

Yet this was nothing compared to what happened when one of the women guests, an official of a local women’s rights organization, dared to mention the topic of honor killings. She barely got a word in before she was shouted down at twice the volume.

Let’s see: control issues, murder, hypocrisy, denial. Special treatment, indeed. Tell us another one, Mr. Public Figure.

(UPDATE: The author of the article is Knesset member Majalli Whbee.)

And Now, in the Hakarat ha-tov Department ...

(Hakarat ha-tov, literally “acknowledging the good,” is the Jewish principle of expressing gratitude and appreciation where due.)

Last Friday afternoon I got another reason to love my Panda.

(My friends who work at the Jerusalem Biblical Zoo can relax. I promise I am not raising pandas illegally in my apartment.)

I am referring to my antivirus program, Titanium Antivirus 2005, made by Panda Software. It was recommended to me by our wonderful computer technician at work, Dani, whom I like to call our cyber-knight in shining armor. I bought it several years ago when I was still using Windows 95 (remember that?), which was by then so out of date that I couldn’t update the antivirus program I was using without spending way too much money. In desperation, I called Dani for advice and he recommended Panda, noting that it would be less expensive to buy the entire program than to update the one I already had. I bought it and have never looked back since.

Last Friday afternoon, I had a major computer crisis that somehow involved my antivirus program. (It wasn’t actually the program’s fault, but I needed the company’s help to fix it.) When I called the office of Panda Software in Netanya for help, the technician stayed on the phone with me for forty minutes until the problem was solved.

Forty minutes. In Israel. On a Friday afternoon.

I should explain that Israel had no weekend until recently. The work week lasted from Sunday until Friday afternoon, when employees went home a bit earlier than usual in order to get ready for Shabbat. Long ago I worked for an office that was open until 1:30 on Friday afternoons, which was a relief at the time since I no longer had to bargain for permission to leave work earlier on Friday afternoons in the wintertime, as I did when I lived in the United States.

Today Israel has a sof shavua, a weekend, which consists of Friday and Shabbat. Among religious people, Friday is always a short day; there never seems to be enough time to prepare for Shabbat even when it comes in at 7:00 p.m. and you don’t have to spend the morning at work. (Well, sometimes I do, but that’s another story.) In order to dispel the tension between those who feel that Shabbat should remain a day of rest and those who feel that stores should be open and public transportation available then, some activists are trying to institute Sunday as an additional day off while reinstating work on Friday mornings. But that’s all beside the point of this post.

So what is the point? my (few) readers may ask.

It’s this: The Panda technician spent forty minutes helping me out on a Friday afternoon when he could have just told me what to do and left it at that. In fact, I offered him that option since I’m pretty decent with computers and good at following instructions. But he went the extra mile, staying with me until the problem was solved, and for that I’m grateful.

So now I’m telling the world: Panda rocks!

Thursday, February 10, 2005

How Sharper Than a Kitty’s Tooth

A cat bit me last night.

She was a cute little gray lady, tame and friendly, who wandered into the neighborhood grocery store while I was there. The proprietor, a young woman, was not at all pleased, to say the least. As I listened to her talk about how she couldn’t stand cats, I got a bit worried about what she or someone else might do if the cat stayed there much longer.

So I figured I’d make friends with the cat and take her outside. Since she was tame, she responded to my outstretched hand and offer of skritches. Everything worked according to plan until I had her in my arms and was walking out of the store. She figured out what was up, squirmed a bit and the next thing I knew: chomp. Cat tooth to lower right palm.

I hadn’t realized that part of the hand is so sensitive.

Well, I can’t blame the cat. It was a cold night, she wanted to be inside where it was warm and she couldn’t know that I was trying to get her out of trouble.

So I headed home, washed the cut with soap and running water as per instructions (thank Heaven for the Internet!), smothered it in tea tree oil and called Magen David Adom for advice on what to do next. You need to get a tetanus shot within twenty-four hours, they said. You also need to contact the Ministry of Health in order to find out whether you need the rabies vaccine.

Ouch.

So this morning, off I went. My first stop was the sparkling new building of the Maccabi Health Fund downtown, where the line was short and the service great (if one can use such terms to describe getting a tetanus shot, but I mean it; the nurse practitioner was wonderful). After that it was across the street to the district health office where I met with the physician on duty. After hearing my story and asking me questions about the cat’s behavior, she decided that I didn’t need the rabies vaccine.

It was only then that I realized how frightened I’d been.

I know that the rabies vaccine is not given today the way it was when I was a child. And I don’t mind needles that much. Yet even though I told myself that if I had to get the vaccine the main thing I wouldn’t like would be the time commitment involved (one needs to receive several injections over the course of a month), I still had the memories of what I’d heard when I was little, and I had visions of having to lie down on a table, uncover my abdomen and ...

I’ll stop here with just one comment: Whew.

And yes, I still like cats.

Wednesday, February 09, 2005

A Most Unusual Taxi Ride

After watching the snow flurries from my window this morning, I went out and took a cab.

The taxi was from a company I know well, but I had never seen the driver before. Surprisingly, she was a woman. (Most taxi drivers in Israel are men.)

Even more surprising was the white snood she wore on her head. I thought: A haredi woman taxi driver? Now I’ve seen everything.

When I got into the cab, I saw that she was wearing slacks. OK, definitely not haredi, but then ... what?

My interest piqued, I began a conversation. “Where are you from?” I asked her, unable to place her accent.

“Jerusalem,” she answered in halting Hebrew, and then: “I was born in Kuwait and came here after the first Gulf War. My parents and siblings live in Jordan, and I live here with my husband and children.”

“How long have you been driving a cab?” I asked.

“One year,” she said.

After some more conversation, I asked her: “Besides Kuwait, how does the Arab world feel about Saddam’s fall?”

“They are happy about it,” she said. “The Arab world never liked him, and they’re glad he’s gone. What a horrible man.”

She was listening to the news in Arabic about the conference at Sharm el-Sheikh, then switched to a Hebrew-language station so that I could listen too. “Finally, we will have peace,” she said. “It’s all we want. I have three children, and all I want is for them to grow up in peace.”

“So do I,” I answered. “Inshallah.

Tuesday, February 08, 2005

Blessed Be Esther

Now that Purim is around the corner, here’s a word from the Jewish Orthodox Feminist Alliance (JOFA):


Posted by Hello

“Blessed Be Esther,” JOFA’s Megillat Esther CD-ROM, in memory of Esther Farber, is now available for purchase!

This interactive tutorial, recorded with women’s voices, offers you the opportunity to learn everything you need to know to leyn Megillat Esther with proper melodies and pronunciation.

When viewed on a computer, “Blessed Be Esther” contains the entire text of the megillah, both with cantillation marks and without. The easy-to-use navigation system allows you to simultaneously follow along with the on-screen text while listening to the reader. You can pause, fast-forward and rewind, enabling you to focus your practice time where you need it most. You can even play the CD on your CD player and listen to the megillah wherever you go!

The CD-ROM also includes:

  • Instructions on how to organize a megillah reading
  • A discussion of the halakhic sources related to women’s reading the megillah
  • A devar Torah about the Book of Esther
  • And much more ...

To order, visit the JOFA website or call 888-550-JOFA.

(And that’s the whole megillah!)

Saturday, February 05, 2005

Thursday, February 03, 2005

Yes, Mistress

Today I petted one of my feline buddies near work. (She’s a very friendly white and silver shorthair who adores being petted.) When I turned to go after a good skritch, she reached over and tapped me on the arm, meowing as if to say, “Hey, wait a minute! You can’t be done yet! Come back here and skritch me some more!”

So I did. And when I turned once more to go, she did it again. So what could I do?

You may say she’s unreasonably demanding, but I take it as a compliment.

(I must have the word “sucker” written on my forehead in great big letters in a language only cats can read.)

Wednesday, February 02, 2005

Flashback

At work today, I came across an article about a Jewish woman who lived in Russia at the turn of the twentieth century. At that time, entrance to Russian high schools for Jewish pupils was restricted by the numerus clausus (quota) system, though all candidates, including Jewish ones, had to pass a special test in order to continue their education.

When the time came for this young woman to take her high-school entrance examinations, another candidate, a Russian princess, asked her to write the examination essay for her. (What the princess wanted, of course, was her classmate’s good handwriting. In more recent times, she might have asked her to type up her essay. In our era of electronic devices, many of which don’t even have keyboards anymore, it’s hard to imagine that there was a time when penmanship was important. Today it’s a lost art.) The Jewish woman replied that she already had two essays to write—her friend’s and her own—and told the princess that she would write her essay if she still had time after completing the other two.

On hearing her answer, the angry princess called her a dirty Jew. The Jewish woman slapped her across the face. As a result, she was expelled from all Russian high schools and had to go abroad in order to continue her education.

Remind me never to take my American public-school education for granted.

Yet there was plenty of antisemitism in the United States too. A family member of my parents’ generation recalls that when she was honored for having placed second in her high-school entrance examinations, one of her classmates hissed, “She’s Jewish.” My relative did not challenge her classmate, but I would like to think that if she had, she would not have been punished for it, certainly not with expulsion at the national level. For all its imperfections, the United States was not czarist Russia.

By the time I was of school age, antisemitism was less visible but still existed. When I was seven years old, my family moved to a rural town which did not contain many Jews at the time. Consequently I was the only Jew in my class for the next several years. I did not encounter much antisemitism then, at least not overtly, except for one incident from third grade that came to mind as I read the article.

During that year my stop was one of the last on the morning school bus route, so by the time I boarded the bus, most of the seats were full. At the time, we were still small enough to sit three abreast. When I got on the bus one morning there was only one empty place left, next to E., a boy who lived several streets away. When I approached it, getting ready to sit down, E. turned to me and said, “You can’t sit here, you dirty Jew.”

I stared at E., too shocked and hurt to speak. Since I had moved to the area only the year before and was originally from a place where many Jews lived, I knew about antisemitism from stories my relatives told. But I had never experienced it personally. It was a monster from the old country, a demon from the dark and distant past, a hostile alien from another planet. This was my first encounter with it, and I did not know what to do.

No one intervened, including the bus driver, so I stood all the way to school.

Some of my readers may say: Why bother with such a disturbing memory? That’s all in the past. All of you were, what, seven or eight years old at the time? Surely E. has learned better by now.

I’d like to believe that. Heaven knows that when I was small I did my share of parroting stupid things I heard outside or on television, much to my parents’ dismay. But even if E.’s offensive remark was only mindless imitation, where did he hear it at such a young age? How did he know about the concept of a “dirty Jew”? Where did he learn that he could stop a classmate from sitting next to him on the bus because she was Jewish?

E. has a German surname. In the context of this story that may mean much or little, but either way, sometimes I wish that I had known enough Jewish history at that moment to ask him, loudly enough for the entire bus to hear, Who taught you to say “dirty Jew,” E.? Do you know what a Jew is? And of course, the clincher: Tell me, E., what did your grandparents do during the war?

(For all I know, E.’s ancestors might have come to the United States before World War II. Yet everyone knows that antisemitism existed in Germany, and indeed in all of Europe, long before then.)

I recently looked E. up on the Internet and discovered that he is now a physician in a particularly sensitive specialty. This is an uncomfortable admission, but it gave me a creepy feeling to see that. Before my readers accuse me of holding a childish and stubborn grudge against a little kid who did a stupid thing thirty years ago, let me say that I don’t hold a grudge against E. To be fair, he developed into a gifted and intelligent young man and I don’t remember hearing him utter another antisemitic remark.

But I never heard him disavow it, either, and he never apologized for what he did that morning.

It would be reasonable to assume that E. has matured and that since he chose this particular branch of medicine, he must be above that sort of thing by now. Yet even though medicine is called a caring profession, we all know from recent history that one can be a compassionate physician to one’s own group and still cherish enough hatred toward others—in the most genteel and cultured manner—to commit mass murder.

As I consider what E. does for a living today, I can only hope that the antisemitism he expressed as a child was indeed only a mindless parroting of what he heard around him—or, if not, that he has done the personal inner work necessary to overcome it.

Tuesday, February 01, 2005

No Ordinary Niggun

(The Hebrew word niggun means, simply, a melody. But those familiar with Jewish music know that it means so much more: a song, in most cases without words, that expresses the deepest longings and highest aspirations of the human spirit.)

“Meditations of the Heart” is back, and to paraphrase the old commercial, you don’t even have to be Jewish to enjoy it.

“Meditations of the Heart” is an extraordinary double CD set of mostly Breslav hasidic melodies recorded by tenor Alon Michael and pianist Israel Edelson. Sound clips for Volume 1 and Volume 2 are available for listening at CD Baby. You can find the Hebrew lyrics of the songs together with English translations at the Meditations of the Heart website.

“Meditations of the Heart” partly inspired my own CD, Day of Rest, so I have a special reason for being glad that it’s available once more. Most important, now there is a little more beauty in the world, and I’m glad to be able to point my readers to it here.

Thursday, January 27, 2005

Korczak’s Children

I just got back from seeing the Jerusalem English-Speaking Theater’s production of “Korczak’s Children.” I’m still too affected to write about it in depth, but I do want to note that it was even more powerful on this, the sixtieth anniversary of the liberation of Auschwitz.

Remembering the Wannsee Conference and the Liberation of Auschwitz


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This article is posted as part of the January 27, 2005 BlogBurst, coordinated by Joseph Alexander Norland of Israpundit, to commemorate the liberation of the Auschwitz death camp, sixty years ago, on January 27, 1945. The complete list of participants is here.

****

The Holocaust, symbolized by Auschwitz, the worst of the death camps, occurred in the wake of consistent, systematic, unrelenting anti-Jewish propaganda campaigns. As a result, the elimination of the Jews from German society was accepted as axiomatic, leaving open only two questions: when and how.

As Germany expanded its domination and occupation of Austria, Czechoslovakia, France, the Low Countries, Yugoslavia, Poland, parts of the USSR, Greece, Romania, Hungary, Italy and others countries, the way was open for Hitler to realize his well-publicized plan of destroying the Jewish people.

After experimentation, the use of Zyklon B on unsuspecting victim was adopted by the Nazis as the means of choice, and Auschwitz was selected as the main factory of death (more accurately, one should refer to the “Auschwitz-Birkenau complex”). The green light for mass annihilation was given at the Wannsee Conference, January 20, 1942.

The Wannsee Conference formalized the “final solution”—the plan to transport Europe’s Jews to eastern labour and death camps. Ever efficient and bureaucratic, the Nazi kept a record of the meeting, which were discovered in 1947 in the files of the German Foreign Office. The record represents a summary made by Adolf Eichmann at the time, even though they are sometimes referred to as “minutes.”

Several of the Conference participants survived the war to be convicted at Nuremberg. One notorious participant, Adolf Eichmann, was tried and convicted in Jerusalem, and executed in 1962 in Ramle prison.

The mass gassings of Europe’s Jews took place in Auschwitz between 1942 and the end of 1944, when the Nazis retreated before the advancing Red Army. Jews were transported to Auschwitz from all over Nazi-occupied or Nazi-dominated Europe and most were slaughtered in Auschwitz upon arrival, sometimes as many as 12,000 in one day. Some victims were selected for slave labour or “medical” experimentation before they were murdered or allowed to die. All were subject to brutal treatment.

In all, between three and four million people, mostly Jews, but also Poles and Red Army POWs, were slaughtered in Auschwitz alone (though some authors put the number at 1.3 million). Other death camps were located at Sobibor, Chelmno, Belzec (Belzek), Majdanek and Treblinka. Adding the toll of these and other camps, as well as the mass executions and the starvation im the Ghettos, six million Jews, men, women, the elderly and children lost their lives as a consequence of the Nazi atrocities.

Auschwitz was liberated by the Red Army on January 27, 1945, sixty years ago, after most of the prisoners were forced into a Death March westwards. The Red Army found in Auschwitz about 7,600 survivors, but not all could be saved.

For a long time, the Allies were well aware of the mass murder, but deliberately refused to bomb the camp or the railways leading to it. Ironically, during the Polish uprising, the Allies had no hesitation in flying aid to Warsaw, sometimes flying right over Auschwitz.

There are troubling parallels between the systematic vilification of Jews before the Holocaust and the current vilification of the Jewish people and Israel. Suffice it to note the annual flood of anti-Israel resolutions at the UN; or the public opinion polls taken in Europe, which single out Israel as a danger to world peace; or the divestment campaigns being waged in the US against Israel; or the attempts to delegitimize Israel’s very existence. The complicity of the Allies in World War II is mirrored by the support the PLO has been receiving from Europe, China and Russia to this very day.

If remembering Auschwitz should teach us anything, it is that we must all support Israel and the Jewish people against the vilification and the complicity we are witnessing, knowing where it inevitably leads.

Tuesday, January 25, 2005

Where Have I Heard That Song Before?

I got quite a start in Jerusalem’s Central Bus Station earlier this week. No, they haven’t added a women’s section to their synagogue. They had “Little Drummer Boy” playing on the piped-in soundtrack, and it wasn’t just an instrumental version, either.

This may sound strange coming from a religious Jew, but I actually don’t mind Christmas carols at all. During my years here I’ve found that many religious English-speaking Israelis actually like them—and I admit that I do, too. I guess we Anglos regard them as part of our shared cultural background. And I suppose that the whole concept of Christmas music is different here in the Jewish state, where we are not bombarded by Christmas advertisements from the beginning of November, Jewish holidays are the norm and the odd Hanukkah song isn’t tacked on to the public-school Christmas concert program as a gesture to the Jewish pupils, as it was in my day.

(That thesis may be a bit difficult to defend these days, with Israeli stores and schools now adopting Christmas symbols. But I believe that is a cultural expression stemming from a desire to emulate the US and has nothing to do with religious belief.)

I wonder what the Central Bus Station’s rabbi—the same man who feels that there is no need to include a women’s section in the bus station’s synagogue—would have done if I had alerted him to the phenomenon. But I was in a hurry and didn’t have time ... and actually, I didn’t mind it all that much. For me it was rather like finding something in a place where one wouldn’t normally look for it—like seeing Christmas decorations adorning sukkot in Me’ah She’arim, or discovering that there are elm trees in Jerusalem.

Monday, January 24, 2005

Turn the Music On

Good news from my old home town (or at least region): Charlie Lang, an old friend of mine from high school, has released his first CD, “Turn the Music On.”

Charlie is one of the most gifted musicians I know and also an excellent singer-songwriter. Most important of all, he is a mensch. He has endured tremendous adversity in his life and triumphed. (Here’s a link to a book about Charlie and his experiences. It is not easy reading, but it is worthwhile.)

Back in high school, Charlie and I had one thing in common: we were both very fond of the music of Billy Joel. But while I contented myself with learning the lyrics and figuring out harmonies to them (where appropriate), Charlie learned every single song Billy Joel had released until that time and played each one—from memory—perfectly and with maturity and soul beyond his years.

In his description of his just-released CD, Charlie mentions his rendition of Billy Joel’s song “Prelude/Angry Young Man.” Even though that performance took place approximately twenty-five years ago, I remember it so well that I could even tell you where I sat, and it is the example I use when I tell my friends about the incredibly gifted musician-songwriter I knew in high school.

One image from Charlie’s performance of Billy Joel’s “Prelude/Angry Young Man” stays with me to this day. Actually it is something I couldn’t see: his wrists.

Billy Joel’s strong background in classical piano is evident in the “Prelude” segment of the song, which begins with an extremely quick and demanding staccato on middle C performed with both hands. A pianist needs incredibly supple wrists to pull it off, and Charlie did it perfectly. As he performed that difficult staccato his wrists blurred in the stage lighting to the point where they became almost completely invisible.

But Charlie’s abilities don’t stop there. He’s been writing songs since he was a kid. Recently he sent me a digital copy of the recording he made at A&R Studios in New York City, backed up by a local band, when he was about seventeen years old. The song, called “Cruisin’,” is his take on high-school life. (I hope he won’t be too embarrassed to read that this recording is one of my most cherished possessions.) And his songs have only gotten better since then.

In a delightful twist, one of the musicians who plays on Charlie’s CD is none other than Richie Cannata, who used to perform and record with Billy Joel and performs the saxophone solos on “Only the Good Die Young” and “New York State of Mind,” to name just a few.

I hope that the release of “Turn the Music On” will be a wonderful beginning and a step on the way to further success for my old friend. Congratulations, Charlie.

Wednesday, January 12, 2005

When Bad Behavior is Kosher

“What you’re doing is a sin! If you read the Torah here, God will never forgive you!” The woman’s soft European accent contrasted with the stridency of her tone as she leaned closer to us and added, “When you stand before God eventually and seek forgiveness for your deeds on earth, He will not grant it. Do you understand what I am saying? He will not forgive you!”

I asked her, with a trace of humor, “Are you God, then?”

“Yes!” she shot back, carried away by her own momentum. Catching herself, she tried to amend her answer, but I turned away, not knowing whether to giggle or sigh. I had heard enough.

Jewish tradition speaks of a merciful, compassionate God Who is close to us all our lives and especially near in time of trouble. Yet as the woman in the dark snood continued her warnings of terrible divine punishment I sadly realized that she was describing God as no better than the most vindictive of human beings. And as she and the others continued to shout at us, I also reflected that people who would ordinarily never dream of indulging in bad behavior find it all too easy to do so where women—particularly women who do not stay in their place—are concerned.

My prayer group, Women of the Wall, has been holding women-only prayer services in the women’s section of the Western Wall every Rosh Hodesh—the start of the Hebrew month—since December 1988. Contrary to an oft-cited misconception, we are not members of the Reform movement. (I confess that charge has always stumped me. Why on earth would the Reform movement, which holds mixed prayer services as a matter of course, need to promote women-only ones?) Nor do we pray as a minyan (a quorum of ten men). We define ourselves as a women’s tefilla [prayer] group, of which there are dozens in Israel and throughout the world, and modify our prayer service accordingly. (A number of such groups have rabbinical support and meet in established Orthodox synagogues.) Contrary to what our opponents would like to believe, the majority of our core members are religiously observant—in fact, the group was founded in large part by an Orthodox woman from Brooklyn.

In 2004, Women of the Wall held two prayer services that included a Torah reading in the women’s section of the Western Wall. In contrast to the group’s tumultuous beginnings, these services were completely calm and peaceful. I remember how some of us wept with joy, feeling that our long journey was finally over, that after nearly fifteen years of struggle women could finally pray as a group and read the Torah freely and without disturbance at our holiest accessible site. But at the end of our service a woman—a respected teacher in her community—approached us to express her pain and sorrow over our Torah reading. I felt confused. How could a person who considered herself religious feel pain over Jewish women reading from the Torah? And what, I wondered, did this teacher feel about the pain of women who, for centuries, had been denied the opportunity to learn their own scriptures?

Yet, saddened as I was by her attitude, I had to admit that at least this woman had behaved with civility and courtesy. Many others who have disagreed with us over the years do not feel bound by manners at all, to say nothing of the very religious law and tradition they claim to champion.

In June 2004, as we arrived at the women’s section of the Western Wall to begin the morning service, a long-time opponent of our group approached us. Carrying printed sheets of text in her hand, she tried to persuade us to study the laws of minhag ma-makom [local custom] with her instead of worshipping. When we refused she tried to steal our Torah scroll, which was a gift to us from Jewish women abroad.

In December 1988, opponents of Women of the Wall physically threw the Torah scroll the women had brought with them. A member of the group who was pregnant at the time caught the scroll on her abdomen rather than allow it to be desecrated by falling. Perhaps our opponents believed that a Torah scroll in women’s possession is not truly a Torah scroll and therefore unworthy of the great respect normally accorded such a sacred object. Perhaps this opponent of ours held a similar opinion regarding the theft she was attempting to commit.

If our opponent’s respect for the Torah scroll was lacking, so was her respect for her fellow human beings. As we defended our Torah scroll, she kept shoving one of our members, who was carrying her infant son, even as the young mother begged her to stop for the baby’s sake. Our opponent, who surely regards herself as a devoutly religious woman, ignored the pleas of my colleague, who finally sent the baby away with one of her older children for his own safety.

This woman then began to incite other women present at the Wall, who bombarded us with shouts and taunts. One woman tapped her hand to her lips over and over, hooting in the same way that my classmates and I used to imitate “Indians” when we were small. At one point a red-bearded man stood on a chair in front of us—in the women’s section!—and worked himself up into an inarticulate, hysterical harangue that went on for several minutes. Meanwhile, our opponent retired to a protected spot—away from the rioters she had incited as well as any police who might arrest them—to survey her handiwork from a distance.

We realized right away that the disturbance was a calculated move on our opponent’s part or on the part of whoever had sent her. A governmental delay in carrying out a ruling by Israel’s High Court of Justice had temporarily enabled our group to read from a Torah scroll legally in the women’s section of the Western Wall. The two peaceful Torah readings we subsequently held there must have worried our opponent, or those who had sent her, so much that she came all the way from the coastal city where she lives—approximately two hours from Jerusalem by car—to create a disturbance rather than allow us to hold a third one.

As we continued to pray, one of the rioting women slapped one of our members across the face. Another threw a stone. As they shouted and chanted childish slogans, at one point dragging chairs along the ground to drown out the sound of our praying (did they think they would be able to keep God from hearing us?), I couldn’t help imagining a classroom full of unruly first-graders. Apparently the women our opponent incited have no tools beyond that level to deal with ideas different from their own—and besides, the looks on their faces showed how much they were enjoying letting their hair down, so to speak.

It was probably the most fun they’d had in years.

* * * *

Some time ago a local columnist published an article about Women of the Wall, filled with the usual prejudice we’ve sadly come to expect from our opponents. In it, he referred to us as “media darlings.” I found this ironic since most of the time the Israeli media, who have no idea who we are or what we’re about, are usually anything but sympathetic. For example, some time after the disturbance our opponent incited, the Israeli newspaper Ma’ariv ran an article describing her as “defender of the simple women,” implying that she had protected the innocent women worshippers at the Western Wall from a bunch of deviously clever interlopers seeking to impose their foreign ways. But the truth is that she did not defend those women at all. On the contrary: she used them. These “simple women” still hold the mistaken belief that Jewish women may not touch a Torah scroll. This highly educated woman, who knows perfectly well that this is not accurate, did not bother to disabuse them. Instead, she exploited their lack of knowledge for her own—or perhaps others’—reasons.

But what really confused me was the columnist’s description of how members of Women of the Wall supposedly stood behind the fence at the rear of the men’s section and shouted the morning prayers at the top of their lungs, with the specific intention of disturbing the men. I was there that day, and we did no such thing. Unlike our opponents, we respect all worshippers at the Western Wall, and we would never engage in such atrocious behavior. Why would the columnist write such a thing, then?

I would like to believe that he thought he was telling the truth, that perhaps he encountered a particularly ill-mannered group that day and chose to believe, based on his own prejudices and failure to check his facts, that it was Women of the Wall. Though I would rather believe that than the alternative—that he slandered us for his own purposes—I have difficulty doing so.

Here’s why. Several years ago this columnist founded a group to oppose Women of the Wall. This group sponsored a short film supposedly showing how dangerous our group is to Jewish tradition. I watched this film and was shocked at the lengths to which it went to portray us negatively. At one point it focused on a woman with an unusual hairstyle whom I have never seen with our group. The intended message was, plainly, “Look at the kind of freaks this group attracts. Do you want weirdos like this praying next to you at the Kotel?” At another point the film used misleading editing to give the impression that members of our group wear tefillin at the Western Wall. (The film’s intended audience cannot abide the idea of women wearing tefillin anywhere, and they would certainly be infuriated to see women wearing them at the Western Wall.) Yet we have never worn tefillin there as a group; when we meet at the Western Wall for prayers, those of us who have taken on the mitzvah of tefillin fulfill it elsewhere. But the film did not see fit to make this distinction. It had an agenda to promote, so the facts didn’t matter.

More recently, another opponent of our group wrote a predictably scurrilous attack on us, but from a new angle. Since high-level Jewish study is now available to women (and halakhic sources are readily available on the Internet), these days our opponents are more cautious about asserting that what we do is a violation of Jewish law. Now they say that although our actions may be technically permitted, our motives are impure. This article went even farther, asserting that our group is, knowingly or not, an arm of various movements inimical to traditional Judaism and that the sincere Jews in our group are being manipulated by sinister anti-Jewish forces.

(Well, at least the author admitted that members of Women of the Wall can be sincere Jews. That’s a first.)

As a friend of mine once observed wryly: “If you don’t have facts, there’s always innuendo.” To which I would add: If you don’t have facts, you can always make some up to suit your purpose. As far as I know, none of these columnists has ever bothered to contact a single one of us, yet they claim to have intimate knowledge of our motives. So where are they getting their information from?

* * * *

Our opponent did not come to our next prayer service. For various reasons beyond the scope of this piece, she didn’t know where or when we would be meeting. (For a time, neither did we.) Learning that a filmmaker had captured her bad behavior on camera probably put a damper on her enthusiasm as well. Shortly before our next service, she called one of our members to apologize for that behavior—and in the same phone call asked that all her appearances be edited out of the film.

During our service I rejoiced in the quiet around us, unbroken by any disturbance. Then I noticed a woman regarding us with a sour expression. She listened as one of our members gave a talk on the weekly Torah portion and then approached another member, muttering, “She doesn’t know what she’s talking about.”

“You can speak here too if you have something pertinent to say,” my colleague offered. “Just bear in mind that everything this woman is saying has a basis in Jewish sources.”

“That doesn’t matter,” the woman said. “I don’t like it.”

And there it is. It doesn’t matter that Jewish law allows women to pray as a group and read from a Torah scroll. It makes no difference that the learned ones among us—and in dozens of women’s tefilla groups throughout the world—can cite chapter and verse to prove it. Some people would simply rather not be bothered with the facts. They don’t like what we’re doing; it makes them feel uncomfortable—and so they believe that this gives them the right to behave in ways that would earn them censure and perhaps even arrest under almost any other circumstances.

I don’t like it. My grandmother never felt the need to do that. (Oh, really? Did you ever ask her? I think you might be surprised.) It’s unfamiliar to me. It makes me feel uncomfortable. Therefore I may steal, shove, shout, slap, stone and slander. Love my neighbor? Judge my fellow human being favorably? Tell the truth? Pursue justice? Only when I agree with you; not otherwise.

This is the attitude of people who claim to be defending Jewish tradition.

It would be funny if it weren’t so sad.

Pet Peeve

Some taxi drivers keep the meter running even after they reach my destination. I really don’t like that, and a few days ago I spoke to the last driver who did it.

“I really don’t like it when taxi drivers let the meter keep on running even after we’ve stopped,” I said.

“Don’t be evil,” the driver answered. “You’re stingy.”

“I don’t think so,” I said. “I’m looking out for my own interests, just like you’re looking out for yours. Now please turn off the meter.”

Sheesh.

Saturday, January 08, 2005

What My CD Baby Review Should Have Said

And here, ladies and gentlemen, is “Up Yours!” by The Taverners!

“Fantastic! Incredible! Unbelievable! ... What the [assorted noise and kazoo sounds] is it?”

Ladies and gentlemen, “Up Yours!” by The Taverners is a CD that will get you dancing and keep you smiling from the happiest moments to the toughest times. You can hear how much fun the musicians had recording it, and now you can have fun listening! It’s pure joy in a jewel case ...

And you can quote me.

Wednesday, January 05, 2005

A Cautious Sigh of Relief

I spoke to Mom today, and she told me that Dad is getting better and will be coming home from the hospital within the next few days.

Thanks again for your prayers and support.

I suppose I could have written a great “This is an olah’s worst nightmare” post (olah=immigrant to Israel), but I just didn’t have the head for it. I still don’t. Right now I’m just breathing a cautious sigh of relief.

My dad’s going to be OK. Right now, that’s all I need to know.

Tuesday, January 04, 2005

Her Admirer’s Voice

Steve of Blog d’Elisson sent me this wonderful picture of his cat Hakuna listening to clips from my CD, “Day of Rest.”

Hakuna of Blog d’Elisson listens to clips from Day of Rest
Posted by Hello

Is this cat gorgeous or what? Steve knows I’m crazy about her—and Matata, too.

And isn’t technology something? Looks like we’re both each other’s fans—a real mutual admiration society from half a world away.

Thank you, Steve! I hope I’ll get to sing to Hakuna and Matata in person one day, and skritch them too.

UPDATE: Here are some more pictures of the lovely ladies.

Monday, January 03, 2005

Please Daven

My mother left a message on my voice-mail a little while ago telling me that she’s taken my father to the emergency room. He had a cold that suddenly got much worse. Actually, both of my parents caught the same bug, but my mother seems to have shaken hers, thank God.

My father’s Hebrew name is Rafael ben Amalia. Please daven for him.

Thanks. May we hear only good news.

UPDATE: Nearly twenty-four hours later: Thanks for your support and prayers. I just spoke to my mom, who said that things look good and it looks like Dad’s going to be fine. Even so, please keep Dad on your davening lists, at least until he gets home from the hospital ... and thanks again, so much.

Sunday, January 02, 2005

Catblogging: The Authoritative Meow

Aside from a month I spent catsitting more than a decade ago, I have never lived with a cat. But I’m very fond of them, and as the cat-owners among my friends wryly observe, perhaps the very reason I like cats so much is that I’ve hardly lived with any.

Most cats I’ve met figure out pretty quickly that I’m an excellent source of skritches. What I don’t get, though, is how cats who have never seen me before figure this out before I’ve even managed to see them.

Many Jerusalem streets have stone walls of varying heights from which cats can observe the environment undisturbed. So it sometimes happens that I’m walking down a street, minding my own business (usually obsessively, as I do a lot of thinking and planning as I walk), when I suddenly hear a commanding, authoritative meow from the wall beside me that I can only translate as “Come here and pay attention to me this instant!”

My response is invariably, “I hear and obey,” delivered with the meekness appropriate to a human addressing a cat, followed by the obligatory skritching.

Interestingly, the two cats who did this the most dramatically were, respectively, a Siamese and a Burmese (or Himalayan). I guess cats with points know how to take what they want.

Saturday, January 01, 2005

Error in Translation

The Vatican did not slam Israel after all. It slammed Sri Lanka for refusing Israeli aid, and the controversy was caused by a Catholic World News mistranslation of an article in L’Osservatore Romano. Here is the corrected article.

(Personal bit here: I translate news for a living. When I found out that the whole uproar was caused by a mistranslation, I couldn’t help thinking: There but for the grace of God ...)

Meryl has more, ending with this wise observation:

In any case, I see that the false news story is spreading far beyond the original CWN site. I’m doing my part to correct the error and stop people from falsely blaming the Vatican for slamming Israel. Relations between Israel and Rome have been shaky enough over the years. We don’t need to make them worse.

Here’s to better understanding (and translations, including mine) in 2005.