The Jerusalem War Cemetery on Mt. Scopus

The Jerusalem War Cemetery on Mt. Scopus

Yesterday I headed to Hadassah Hospital on Mt. Scopus for an annual routine test. On the way out, I decided to take a closer look at the nearby Jerusalem War Cemetery.

Although the graves in the cemetery are approximately ninety years old, the cemetery is in excellent condition. I saw a team of gardeners employed by the Commonwealth War Graves Commission working there, one of whom helpfully directed me to the Jewish section (located on the far left, second section as one ascends from the street).

The grave next to the Jewish one is that of an unknown soldier. The inscription reads: “A soldier of the Great War, known unto God.” I would have taken more pictures, but as the above photo shows, the sprinklers were on at the time, so I couldn’t get much closer.

Farther up, near the memorial chapel, is a memorial wall inscribed with the names of more than three thousand soldiers who fell in the Middle East whose burial places are unknown.

The cemetery also contains the graves of several Turkish and German soldiers, who presumably died as prisoners of war.

Besides the war cemeteries in Jerusalem (including the Indian Cemetery in Jerusalem, for Sikh and Muslim soldiers from India who fought and fell here), there are other cemeteries in Beer Sheva, Ramle and Haifa. (There is also one in Gaza, but I am not sure how accessible it is these days. It was vandalized in 2004.)

Today is Tisha be-Av (the ninth day of the Hebrew month of Av), the saddest day in the Jewish calendar. Today we remember our destroyed Temples and our exiled people, and all the catastrophes that befell us throughout history.

So, my half-dozen readers may ask, what does a war cemetery on Mt. Scopus have to do with Tisha be-Av?

If I remember correctly, World War I began on Tisha be-Av, and as terrible and tragic as it was, its effects lasted far beyond Armistice Day. I felt that it would be appropriate to remember these fallen soldiers the day before the anniversary on which the war started. And, as Treppenwitz pointed out in a post from March 2006, we owe a great debt to their memory.

An easy fast.

Stretching Out

Stretching Out

Her Ladyship stretches out one hot summer day, showing her fuzzy tummy.

“What’re you lookin’ at?”

The Friday Ark.

The Carnival of the Cats.

(And yes, I hope to start writing again soon, instead of just posting cat pictures. I have been extremely busy over the past weeks, but things are calming down, at least for now.)

Cool Cat Cools Off

Cool Cat Cools Off

Her Ladyship cools off on cool stone:

Friday Ark.

Carnival of the Cats.

The Lady in Red, Kitty Yoga, and You

The Lady in Red, Kitty Yoga, and You

From a recent visit with my old friend, the Lady in Red:

(The title of this post is taken from the well-known television series Lilias, Yoga and You, which ran on PBS from 1972 to 1992.)

Check out today’s Friday Ark, and the Carnival of the Cats on Sunday.

Missy, What Do You See?

Missy, What Do You See?

A nonchalant Missy perches on the stone wall, watching the world go by.

Check out the Friday Ark, up at The Modulator tomorrow. And check out the Carnival of the Cats home page to see where the next Carnival will be.

Mr. Neighborcat, Sitting in a Tree

Mr. Neighborcat, Sitting in a Tree

Since I took this picture at around dinnertime, I’m betting that Mr. Neighborcat is scoping out a bird or two for an appetizer.

Catch today’s Friday Ark at The Modulator, and stay tuned to the Carnival of the Cats home page to see where next week’s Carnival of the Cats will be.

Peek-a-Boo

Peek-a-Boo

Lady in Red, I see you!

Catch today’s Friday Ark at The Modulator, and check at the Carnival of the Cats home page to see where Sunday’s carnival will be.

Intruder Alert!

Intruder Alert!

Well, it was an intruder alert as far as Her Ladyship was concerned. Missy was perfectly willing to make friends.

The intruders were a tux and a gray tabby, possibly related. I had never seen them before. They entered at one side of the garden and exited the other, moving so quickly that I didn’t have time to get my camera out to take a picture of them.

So all I got were the reactions of the two resident cats. Check out Her Ladyship’s raised hackles and poofy tail. And check out Missy’s lack thereof.

O the difference between cat and cat!

Catch today’s Friday Ark, and check out the Carnival of the Cats home page to see where the Carnival will be this coming Sunday.

Foot Pillow

Foot Pillow

I was changing the water in the yard when Her Ladyship came over to me with a demand for attention. I barely had time to put the bowl of water down before she flopped down on her side with her head on my foot.

Don’t believe me? I have photographic proof! Yes, I somehow managed to get out the camera without disturbing Her Ladyship. She flipped from foot to foot, too, but I didn’t manage to get that on camera.

Check out today’s Friday Ark. The next Carnival of the Cats will be up at Justin’s Random Thoughts on Sunday.

A Study in Black and White

A Study in Black and White

Missy in the yard:

I really like black-and-white photography.

Today’s Friday Ark is up. Check out the Carnival of the Cats home page to find out where the next Carnival will be.

Camouflage

Camouflage

Her Ladyship blends in with the scenery:

Check out today’s Friday Ark. The Carnival of the Cats will be at The Catblogosphere on Sunday.

Urban Wheat

Urban Wheat

So I’m in one of Jerusalem’s industrial areas, about to cross a street. I look down and what do I see?

(Click to enlarge.)

What? Wheat!

This is pretty unusual. Wild barley and oats grow all over the city, but this is the first time I’ve actually seen wheat growing wild here (or anywhere else, for that matter).

Wheat. Wow.

Scaring the Birds Again, Eh?

Scaring the Birds Again, Eh?

When I went out to work one morning this past week, I heard the birds making a racket in the trees overhead. I didn’t know why until these two came sauntering out of the bushes to say hello.

Check out the 138th edition of the Friday Ark. And check out the Carnival of the Cats home page to see where the next CotC will be.

Interesting Bug

Interesting Bug

(Click to enlarge.)

I wonder what it is.

Kitty Muscles In

Kitty Muscles In

The lion is the symbol of Jerusalem. Recently, someone in my neighborhood decided to give the rampant Jerusalem lion a bit of competition:

I have no complaints!

An Honor from 6,000 Miles Away

An Honor from 6,000 Miles Away

Meryl Yourish has said on her blog that one of her jobs is teaching little Jews to be big Jews—in other words, teaching at her local religious school. I’ve been reading her descriptions of her classes for several years now, and more than once I’ve told her that I would love to be in her classroom.

Well, yesterday it happened.

I felt like saying hi to Meryl, so I sent her an IM. Turns out she was in class and online... and the next thing I knew, my living room in Jerusalem and her classroom in Richmond were linked through GoogleTalk!

Well, I’ve always said that the Internet is miraculous.

It was absolutely lovely. I heard her pupils’ voices and even got to sing one of my favorite songs with them: Uzi Hitman’s version of “Adon Olam.” By the time we said goodbye I was grinning from ear to ear and even a bit misty in the eyes.

Thank you, Meryl. What an honor.

(Can we do it again? I’ll go collect some more songs...)

Missy and Her Ladyship: Friends At Last?

Missy and Her Ladyship: Friends At Last?

Missy and Her Ladyship in a very rare pose, captured in pixels by my friend, their human companion:

Could it be friendship at last?

Check out the Friday Ark and the upcoming Carnival of the Cats, which will be at The Scratching Post on Sunday.

Close, Closer, Closest

Close, Closer, Closest

Seen on the way home from work:

(Click on any image to enlarge.)

Liviu Lebrescu, 1930–2007

Liviu Lebrescu, 1930–2007

A Holocaust survivor originally from Romania, Dr. Liviu Lebrescu gave his life to save his students during the massacre at Virginia Tech, blocking the door to his classroom with his own body to prevent the murderer from forcing his way in.

Both Meryl Yourish and Elisson have written must-read pieces about him and his final act of rescue.

May Dr. Lebrescu’s soul be bound up in the bond of eternal life, together with the souls of the other victims.

Becoming, Being

Becoming, Being

From this...

... to this.

My friend says that this plant, which festoons itself across fences and trees, is a parasitic weed. But it is beautiful and has a lovely fragrance.

(What is it? Anybody?)

UPDATE: It’s wisteria. Thank you, OldRoses and Jocelyn!

Stopping to Remember

Stopping to Remember

Traffic stops on a Jerusalem street during the siren sounded on the morning of Yom ha-Shoah, Holocaust Heroes’ and Remembrance Day.

Shimrit’s Garden

Shimrit’s Garden

My neighbor, Shimrit Ginott, got a well-deserved write-up in The Jerusalem Post’s local supplement, In Jerusalem, this week: The not-so-secret garden.

Once upon a time in the tranquil and otherwise leafy neighborhood of San Simon, there was a plot of land that nobody wanted. Occasionally blades of grass would poke through the broken concrete only to be flattened by rubble from a nearby building site or the odd municipal bulldozer sent to obliterate intrepid weeds.

Today, however, rosemary, irises, wild mint, periwinkle, geraniums, buddleias, lemon grass and olive trees now fill the space, and it's all thanks to the determination of one green-fingered resident.

For the past five years, Shimrit Ginott has spent up to an hour every day revamping this 3,000 square meter area, which lies just outside her apartment building.

Here are some pictures that I took in Shimrit’s garden a few weeks ago. (Click on any image to enlarge it.)

The entrance:

A young fig tree (with an interesting plant in the background):

Red and purple:

Down the garden path:

A riot of flowers:

An anemone:

Tire planter with sign:

The one thing that these pictures don’t capture is all the birdsong.

Cheers to Shimrit! How fortunate we are to have her for a neighbor.

Cats in Light and Dark

Cats in Light and Dark

A calico in the dark:

Her Ladyship in the light:

The Friday Ark is up.

The Carnival of the Cats is heading to Books4Israel on Sunday.

Hide ’n’ Seek

Hide ’n’ Seek

Two tabbies in downtown Jerusalem play the classic game.

Check out this week’s Friday Ark, and head over to the Carnival of the Cats home page to see where the next Carnival of the Cats will be.

Cheeto, Close Up

Cheeto, Close Up

My friends’ cat, the gorgeous Cheeto, is ready for his close-up.

Check out this week’s Friday Ark.

And check out this coming Sunday’s Carnival of the Cats.

Freight Train, Freight Train

Freight Train, Freight Train

As I was standing on the platform at the Binyamina train station a little while back, a pre-recorded announcement came over the loudspeaker asking people to move away from the track because a high-speed train was about to pass by.

Even though I was a good distance away from the track, I stepped back still further because I’m familiar with the powerful rush of air that these passing trains create. Still, I thought that the announcement was unusual. Since Binyamina is a train hub, to the best of my knowledge all northbound and southbound trains stop there.

So imagine my surprise when what passed us was not a train rushing southward to Tel Aviv, but rather a slow-moving freight train.

I guess they don’t have pre-recorded announcements that say, “You might want to stand away from the track, but it’s really no big deal. Low-speed freight train coming through!”

At the Tel Aviv Cinematheque

At the Tel Aviv Cinematheque

Here are two photos I took at the Tel Aviv Cinematheque last Friday. First, a bench with interesting legs:

Second, the house cat of the Tel Aviv Cinematheque drinks the water put out for him. (One of his ears is tipped; he has been neutered.)

There’s a look about his face that reminds me of his larger cousins.

Praying in Her Own Voice: Women of the Wall on Film

Praying in Her Own Voice: Women of the Wall on Film

This morning I went to the DocAviv International Documentary Film Festival in Tel Aviv with other members of Women of the Wall to see Praying in Her Own Voice (Hebrew title: Kol be-isha tefilla), a film about our group and its legal struggle that was made by history professor and filmmaker Yael Katzir. I came out extremely moved, and wonderful to relate, I wasn’t the only one by far. It seems that the entire audience—which filled the largest auditorium at the Tel Aviv Cinematheque almost to capacity—was, too.

Yael, who spent four years making this film, put her heart and soul into it. Most important, she understood us. She got us: who we are, what we’re about (and, just as important, what we’re not about), what we want and why it is important to Israeli society and to Judaism as a whole. Thanks to her film, Israelis now understand that for the first time... and if we can judge by the audience’s reaction—prolonged, loud applause at the end of the film and the heartfelt comments they made to us after we left the theater—they get it, too.

People have already asked me where they can buy Praying in Her Own Voice on DVD, and I hope that soon I will be able to tell them. I recommend it highly: not because I am involved in Women of the Wall or because I appear in the film (a little), but rather because in my opinion it shows who we are, truly and simply, and why our struggle for the equal right of Jewish women’s prayer groups to worship according to their custom at the Western Wall has implications that go far beyond ourselves.

I had an additional reason for wanting to see the film, however: I did the subtitles, and for the most part, they came out very well.

I can hear my half-dozen readers ask: What do you mean, they came out very well? If you did them yourself, shouldn’t you know how they came out?

As it turns out, not quite.

When Yael asked me to do the subtitles, I asked a good friend of mine who graduated from the Maale School of Film, Television and the Arts several years ago to meet with me and show me the ropes. She graciously agreed, and during our talk she warned me that errors often creep into the subtitles after they have left the translator’s hands. Someone changes something during the editing stage, or the person responsible for uploading the titles may make a mistake somewhere. She recommended that I be present for the uploading to make sure that didn’t happen, but unfortunately, it didn’t work out. And indeed, changes were made and some few errors were introduced into the text after it left my hands. At this point, it can’t be helped.

But that’s a secondary, technical point. Most important is the film’s message, which comes through loud and clear thanks to Yael’s perceptive and compassionate eye. So go see Praying in Her Own Voice if you have a chance, or buy the DVD when it becomes available. I’ll certainly post the relevant information here when it is.

The Skirt Sharer

The Skirt Sharer

This tortie I met downtown likes to share my skirt.

Today’s Friday Ark.

The Carnival of the Cats will be at Scribblings on Sunday.

The Plotnick on a Podcast

The Plotnick on a Podcast

I have loved children’s books all my life. Recently I discovered Flashlight Press, which impressed me very much. A friend of mine has many of their books, and when I saw her recently, she let me take a look at them.

It was addiction at first sight. I think I read them all in one sitting, not coming up for air even once. It was a great reminder of why I᾿m nuts about children’s books.

Ever hear of Ruben Plotnick? I just got to know him recently myself, and I like him a lot. It seems that a family in Canada does, too—Mark and Andrea of JustOneMoreBook.com have just done a podcast about him!

Neat, eh? I only met Ruben a few weeks ago, and already he’s famous!

Mother Cat and Kitten

Mother Cat and Kitten

A mother cat and her kitten downtown:

(Check out the 129th edition of the Friday Ark up at The Modulator. The next Carnival of the Cats will be at the Carnival of the Cats home page itself!)

The Parakeets Are Back!

The Parakeets Are Back!

Actually, they never left. But the tree in front of my window sprouted its annual crop of seed pods this week, which means that the local parakeet population has begun to descend upon it for its annual munch-fest.

This morning I saw three, though only two can be seen clearly in the following photos:

The green-feathered diners at the treetop restaurant are a male and female. The male can be identified by the black ring around the front of his neck, which becomes a pink ring at the sides and in the back.

Wow, look at the lady! She’s eating upside-down!

Welcome back, parakeets! It’s good to see you again. Enjoy your meals!

Want Some Halvah?

Want Some Halvah?

Come on over to the Mahane Yehuda open market and pick a flavor. (Click on the image to enlarge.)

Post-Purim Post

Post-Purim Post

It was a nice Purim. Last night I listened to my friend read part of Megillat Esther at a reading in a private home, and this morning I read chapters 5 and 6 at a local women’s reading. Chapters 5 and 6 are my favorites to read, because I really have the chance to ... ummm, you should pardon the expression ... ham it up.

Then I went to a friend of mine for the festive Purim meal. Wonderful news: she and her husband are expecting a new addition to their family at around this time next month. Be-sha’ah tovah!

The only wrench in the works was that I started to come down with a migraine as the meal was ending. But thanks to some painkillers and the twenty-minute nap I took on my friends’ sofa, I dodged the worst of it. That’ll teach me to be lax about drinking (water) on Purim.

(Side note: I don’t get drunk, ever. I’ve been tipsy occasionally, but never more than that, since I have a low tolerance threshold and too much alcohol puts me into terrible pain. Specifically, it makes me feel as though my heart and lungs have been set on fire, and to put it very mildly, when I am in pain I am no pleasure to be around. So no drinking for me on Purim or Simhat Torah. An occasional glass of wine with Shabbat dinner, and that’s it.)

Here is what I saw on the way home. They’re called common grape hyacinths, according to the lovely flower guide that friends of mine gave me for my birthday a while back.

Here is the poem “Vashti” by Frances E. W. Harper. (Yes, I admit it: I have a soft spot for Vashti, and I think that Esther is a tragic figure. But that’s a post for another day.)

And last but by no means least, here is a wonderful post about Purim, courtesy of Elisson.

New Digs for an Old Friend

New Digs for an Old Friend

Remember the Lady in Red, the special cat who lived in the park nearby?

Well, it seems that a few weeks ago she developed a severe but treatable health problem. One of her human friends who happened by and noticed her distress took her to the vet, then took her home. Luckily, she lives nearby, and I get to visit her often.

So here are two pictures of the Lady in Red in her new home:

I’ll miss seeing the Lady on my walks through the park. But I am happy to know that she is safe and well cared for, and I do get to visit.

(Catch the 128th edition of the Friday Ark at The Modulator. The next Carnival of the Cats will be up at TacJammer on Sunday.)

Somewhere in Early Twentieth-Century Jaffa Is a Broom I’d Like to Borrow

Somewhere in Early Twentieth-Century Jaffa Is a Broom I’d Like to Borrow

The great-grandmother of a friend of mine lived in Jaffa in the early twentieth century. She and her family were observant Jews, and when a missionary came to call one day, she grabbed her broom and chased him down the street. It’s a famous family story, one that her great-grandson and his wife and family, dear friends of mine for nearly twenty years, tell with pride.

I could have used that broom last week.

I was sitting on a local main street waiting for a bus home. Since the bus stop was full, I sat on a nearby bench, but since for some unfathomable reason the municipality installed the benches facing away from the street, I found myself twisting around a bit, trying to keep an eye on the road.

It was then that a tall, slightly heavy-set man approached me. He was holding a folded piece of paper in his hand with a title printed on it in Hebrew and Aramaic. I took a quick look at it without touching it. “What’s that?” I asked him, giving him the frosty tone and glare I reserve for people who try to give me unsolicited literature.

“It’s about Yeshua,” he answered.

Great, I thought, a missionary. One of those creeps who tries to get Jews to abandon Judaism by using deliberate mistranslations and outright lies. Aloud, I said only, “Oh,” and pointedly turned away. He got the message and walked off.

Unfortunately, he had a partner, a tall, slender man with a beard who also approached me, holding out another copy of the tract. For some reason, I found myself getting into a debate with him, but after a few moments I pulled myself up short and told him, “Look, this is dumb. I don’t even know why I’m debating with you. This isn’t a matter for debate. I think that what you’re doing is disrespectful and a hutzpah. I would never ask you to adopt my way of life. Besides, all your pretty talk can’t hide the fact that your faith teaches that if I don’t believe as you do, I’m going to go to Hell when I die. My religion is much kinder. It teaches that the righteous of all faiths have a place in the World to Come.“

He asked me to define “righteous,” and I admit it, I was taken in. (This is why I never joined the debating team, or perhaps why I should have.) Of course, the definition is not the point. The inclusiveness is. I told the missionary once again that I wasn’t the slightest bit interested, and he said that I should pray to understand the text of Isaiah 53. I retorted, “I don’t have to,” and there it ended, or so I thought.

Several minutes later, my bus still hadn’t come. As I waited, I watched both missionaries join up with each other. One of them approached a man who was sitting in a wheelchair, his Filipina caregiver beside him, and handed him a tract, which the man politely took.

At that point, my blood boiled over. I leaped to my feet and started yelling in a voice that could be heard down the block: “That’s disgusting! To give missionary material to a man in a wheelchair who can’t talk back to you—that’s sick!”

The two missionaries glanced at each other and back at me with an expression that said, Let’s get away from this crazy woman!

And off they went.

I don’t flatter myself that they walked away because of me. They probably had somewhere else to go, other things to do, more tracts to try to foist on unsuspecting Jews.

But oh, how my hands itched for my friend’s great-grandmother’s broom.