Egged

My oldest daughter and I are bonding through Egged bus lines. Every morning we meet on the bus on our way to work, taking the same bus. We catch up on the day before talk about our summer plans, complain about family, and talk about the passengers on the bus. They haven't yet caught on. Our conversations are low and in English, interspersed with an occasional burst of laughter at some of them - like the good looking Arab man who gets on at the last stop and wore the same pink shirt for three days in a row. She cackles...

"Maybe his wife left him and he doesn't know how to do the laundry?"

No one is safe on that bus with us. We look at older Ethiopian women who wear plaid tops with checkered skirts and totally mismatched head coverings, and note how Arab women know how to match their clothing right up to their head coverings - sometimes even better than we do.

There's the fat Russian man with his adorable young blond daughter and the deaf and mute man who has a crush on me. This man and I get off at the same stop and he sounds out something I don't understand and then kisses my hand. This happens nearly every day. I understand when he tells me it's hot outside or when he asked me if I'm married, by motioning with his hands a ring on the finger. I showed him my ring, but that still didn't stop his hand-kissing me. Then we part ways at the traffic light. My daughter sometimes says rude things about him to me, right in front of him, in English and I hope he can't lip read in English. I don't think he can. This morning he snatched my shopping cart from me before our stop, ran down the bus steps with it, and I just shrugged my shoulders at my daughter and said 'I guess I HAVE to get off here, don't I!" We blew kisses to each other and laughed.

She puts on her makeup as soon as we get on the bus and I put mine on when the bus is on the highway so I don't mascara my nose when the bus swerves and turns along its local Maaleh Adumim route.

She lets me know when there are changes in my babysitting schedule and I look at my schedule and tell her if I can or cannot babysit that evening. I told her how I really enjoyed babysitting this past Monday because her kid wasn't cranky at all. In fact, he imitated me when I called him a "nudnik". He pushed the plastic chair around the livingroom repeating "nud nik, nud nik", which is what he is, of course, albeit a very cute one.

We planned an evening at Cinema City in Herzliya with our hubbies - for an evening at the movies in the VIP section of the theater - "where you sit on lazy-boys, put your feet up and watch the movie, and go and get pop and popcorn for free. They serve you bourekas, pastries, and you can eat all the Ben and Jerry ice cream you want. All the Ben and Jerry's you want!!!" my daughter repeated this as if this will send her (together with me, of course) into a state of ecstasy.

Now that our travel route has bonded us, she invites me on Tuesday evenings to her home where her chef husband cooks up a splendid meal. Yesterday there was tri-colored pasta salad and Greek salad with real feta cheese. I find that this tradeoff of me babysitting on Monday nights and dinners at their house on Tuesdays is a nice exchange.

We have two bus drivers that take us to our destinations - one we call the "Turtle" because he drives like one, and the other is an Ethopian whom she calls "Samuel Jackson" because she thinks he resembles a younger version of Samuel. When she calls me in the morning to see what driver we have, the drivers must think I'm a CIA agent or something. I talk in code. "Good morning sweetie, it's the Turtle today." That's a sign that she either has to rush to her bus stop or walk at a slower pace. Samuel's her favorite driver. Once, when I wasn't on the bus, he asked her "Where's your 'friend' that always calls you each morning when she gets on the bus, and you sit together?" "Friend? That's my mother!" "Really? I would never have guessed, she looks so young." And now he's my favorite bus driver too.

Music

Well, if I can't travel anywhere, I thank God for YouTube where I can spend some time listening to some of my favorite bands/singers from this part of the world, and some of the stuff my kids are listening too. Many I find very uplifting.

Why don't you give a listen and tell me what you think?



Avishai Cohen



Avishai Cohen with Din Din Aviv


Uri Banai


Moosh Ben Ari


Ehud Banai


Ehud Banai


Ron Danker


Kobi Peretz


Alon de Loco


Dana International and Idan Yaniv


Amir Dadon

Here, there and everywhere

What is this? I simply cannot focus. I'm 53 years old and still don't know what I want to be or do when I grow up. It hasn't happened yet. But I want to be discovered.

On Saturday I was restless, as I usually am. I had this terrible yearning to be anywhere but in my apartment. I suddenly wanted to go to these obscure music festivals in Morocco, or wanting to see the midnight sun either in Sweden or Iceland and if that didn't pan out, then I would go to Finland in the wintertime and do some dog-sledding (but with whom?).

Besides that, there's the career I never had. I thought perhaps I should write an award-winning movie script, become a renowned photographer, invent something, steal something not patented but that I think is a wonderful idea, import things I want to see in Israel, build a touristy website of special interest. See? I can do a lot of these things, but I don't do them to the point where I excel in them. It's all mediocre. To be more than mediocre, I'd have to put my heart and soul into whatever it is I want to do - but there's no money or time for learning these crafts/skills. Plus I thought about getting a degree. Just a simple BA degree in anything because I can't decide in what I should get a degree. It could be anything from comparative religion, communication, journalism, history, education,anything interfaith, intercultural. I looked over a few options and found that unless I dole out a shitload of money, I can't study in English. It would have to be in Hebrew. That would be totally tough for me as my Hebrew reading is limited to advertisements, street signs and restaurant menus, and my Hebrew grammar is horrid. And I almost said to Hubby "yes, because then I would be able to study in English" when my husband had his weekly - Let's Go Back To Canada - moment.

Ahhhh

God always has a way of pacifying me in one way or another when I'm upset, grumpy, nervous... And yesterday was one of those days. So I managed to get myself a free introductory hot stone massage in Neve Daniel - a settlement south of Jerusalem.

My kids and friends laughed at me - knowing the lengths I'd go to get the finer things in life. Yes, I told them, I'd even go into an Arab village to get that free massage too.

I waited for the hourly bus at Malcha Mall and got on the bullet-stone proof bus that would take me to this place. While I sat down and made boogie-eyes at a cute blonde baby girl next to me, to make her laugh (she did), I got a text message from Rabbis from Human Rights about plowing in the Arab village of Jitt, a call from a friend who has a financial dilemma (which was easy for me to figure out - I have a clear head for others, but not myself), and before I knew it, I found myself through the entrance to Neve Daniel. The homes were big and beautiful in this new section and filled with Americans from what I hear. The sunset was magnificent, and I saw the neighboring hill of the Tent of Nations where I had spent one lovely evening, and wished the two communities could get to know one another.

But getting back to this hot stone massage. I was in absolute heaven for 1 1/4 hours. With hot stones and hot oil professionally applied to every place that hurt -and that was most places on me - I felt so relaxed. I didn't even think about what had bothered/worried me all week. I relaxed so much so that when I got home I went straight to sleep at 9:30 pm - early for someone who doesn't hit the sack until at least 11:00 pm.

The woman who gave the treatment was a recent arrival to Israel from California (are all healers from California?), and we laughed together when we compared our adult-children stories. I was pleased because I need to have good energy coming from the healer. A masseuse can be good, even excellent, but if there's no energy or just bland energy coming from that person, it doesn't add to the treatment. Here, I felt a kinship, a bond, so it was really lovely. And to top it off, she served melon and various kinds of nuts with a tall glass of water after the treatment which was a lovely surprise and quite a nice touch, I must say.

So, here's another thing I would like for my wish list. Weekly hot stone massages. God, are you listening?

Summer vacation blues

I've been feeling nervous and anxious and worried and all the synonyms that go with these words. Why? I don't know. A combination of things. Tomorrow is already July 1st and I'm looking at Facebook, seeing photos that people posted of wonderful places where they are traveling and my travel envelope is empty. So is my clothing envelope. Hubby is finishing his 6 month construction job with not a job in the very near future and that is also very disturbing, especially since I need nearly $2,000 from him each month to keep us going - and not even going, but to just be able to eat. So, I'd rather be travelilng to the North of Sweden and taking in the midnight sun, or taking a cruise along the Mediterranean or even Eastern Europe - just one city!! One city. That isn't asking for too much - is it?

I did buy a couple of tickets to the Jerusalem Film Festival, which is a lot cheaper than travel, and that will keep me happy for 10 days. And in August there's the Arts and Crafts festival with its many stalls, works of art, gypsy cafe, international performers, local performers, etc. There will be free/cheap entertainment this summer, but I worry. Will I be able to even have lunch out while my office is closed for two weeks? I was hoping to do "lunches" at various restaurants around Jerusalem because it's less expensive than dinner and I hardly go out for lunch - which is always taken indoors at the office. So this would be a treat. But what if I can't afford those lunches? I'm worried about summer deprivation and it's still only June 30th.

Every day I look at my two bathrooms where shower doors are supposed to be - and where I was hoping, after living in my apartment for two years, that they'd finally be installed. But it's a bad case of the "shoemaker's family's shoes" syndrome, and I'm living it. Feh.

You know how you have those bouts of "nothing is going my way" days. This week is one of those weeks.

It began by me going to a wedding of a distant relative of mine in Jerusalem. I didn't even ask Hubby to tag along because we hardly know anyone who would be there, and with separate seating for men and women at this ultra-Orthodox event, he would be totally alone. Which left more adventurous me to represent our family. I walked in with my lovely burgandy Naot sandals and a modest skirt with sequins scattered here and there and a black top which covered my elbows. I even wore a head covering. But everyone else there was dressed in designer duds and wigs and no one was wearing sandals (gasp!), while I was the only one there whose stocking-less toes were peeking out through their shoes. Fortunately, I found another outcast there(who was easily identifiable by her non-glamorous clothing and partially uncovered hair) among the guests, and so we sat together at our own table - no one bothering to sit with us, as if we had the plague or were in exile for daring to dress down/dowdy/different.

That was number one. Then every time I'd open Facebook this week, it opened up in Hebrew and I'd have to figure out how to get it to go back into English. You might think it's petty but I want my creature comforts and if I don't have money for travel, and English is it, then I should have it.

Rent in Jerusalem

Thank the good Lord I'm not doing that no more. I haven't rented in 2 years and don't intend to ever again. It was hell. Absolute hell. But that's not what I meant by this post's title. I want to tell you about the play RENT, that has been performing since June 11th, as part of Hadassah's Center Stage Theater in Jerusalem.

My calendar for things to do/see/go to has been filling up faster than a broken dam. That's a stupid analogy, I know - but you get the picture. I'm busy. Last Thursday, I was planning to go to a very serious interfaith event at the lovely Mishkenot Shaananim guest house. The event featured talks by various Jewish, Moslem and Christian leaders on the one God, which would eventually lead up to a discussion about the Temple Mount and how the Third Temple can exist side-by-side with the Al-Aqsa mosque - the hows and whys and how to overcome the difficulties that will certainly arise from even the thought of such a thing. They were giving out a simultaneous translation contraption, which I took, so my brain wouldn't have to work hard at translating Hebrew into English - let someone else bust their chops doing this. The audience was quiet, serious and a lovely mix of Druze, Christians, Moslem and Jews - quite a number of Orthodox Jews at that.

But a conversation with a friend of mine earlier in the afternoon coaxed me into seeing a rooftop performance of the Jerusalem production of Rent. Her daughter was in the show, and I figured it would be nice of me to go. I'm not into plays, theater - not even musicals. I didn't even care for Hair or Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat. But I thought it would be a nice respite from the stresses of life and my hectic job, where I hardly have time to take lunch breaks.

I also like rooftop anythings in Jerusalem. The air is cool at night and there are rooftop barbecues, concerts, etc. happening all throughout the summer. If it's rooftop, I'm there.

One drawback for me was that it's not always so pleasant to go places on one's own. A movie, play, dinner out is so much better with a friend or two or three. I made a spontaneous decision to go, and tried calling one friend, who doesn't mind impulsivity, who I thought might want to go, but she couldn't be reached. So I got the one ticket, even though I didn't see too many other lone theater-goers.

To tell you the truth, I had expected a much more amateurish production. I used to go to Broadway shows all the time when I lived in New York and dated an entertainment writer. I didn't expect anything close to that kind of professionalism here in Jerusalem. But I was pleasantly surprised. The acting was great, the singing just as great and I thought the music was pre-recorded, until I looked over a few heads in front of me and saw a small band in the corner. I loved the play's characters, and my friend's daughter was amazing. She sounded like she could easily sell a whole shitload of records. And that kind of brought back all that nostalgia for American culture.

When I got home I tried to get my family excited about perhaps going with me again next week for the play's last week of performances, but none of my enthusiasm rubbed off on them. My kids just tsk'd at me - they're not into American anything. They are far too snobbishly Israeli to go to anything as embarrasingly American as this.

"I know you'll like the music, and the actors are all young, and pretty and handsome" I added.

They just shrugged their shoulders at me. Mom's crazy and goes to all these hippie, Arab-Jewish things, so why should they believe me now that they'll like something I like.

But I did get a positive response from Hubby. Yes, he, too, would like to lay back into a Jerusalem rooftop experience after a hard day's work and go see this play. And maybe he'll fall in love with the drag queen as much as I did.

Sin City

I love Tel Aviv. I feel so free and easy when I'm there, and life seems so uncomplicated. I'm learning the city little by little. I decided to go with Hubby this past Friday, to renew our Canadian passport, pick up Madonna tickets, have breakfast at the Port and see the Pride Parade.

Being that we're car-less, we took a bus from Jerusalem, and the bus just glided its way into the Big City that never sleeps in the Middle East. We seemed to get there in no time at all, being that there's not much traffic on a Friday.

The Canadian embassy/consulate wait was two hours and I just KNEW that if I waited with a very ADHD hubby, things would not bode well for me, so I left that for another time when I'll go alone. But I wondered why the wait was so long. The U.S. Consulate is quick and efficient, and the Canadians either don't have the staff, or don't work fast or take long lunches. Who knows. We navigated towards the nearest bus stop and found out from one of the locals that it was an easy 20 minute walk from the Central Bus Station to the Embassy. Next time I'll do that instead of paying a taxi 30 NIS. I'm such a fucking tourist.

Picking up Madonna tickets was next on my list and we decided to take in Tel Aviv by walking the entire length of Ibn Gavirol Street in whatever shade we could find. Everyone was having breakfast on that street. Organic this and organic that - even a shop with organic falafel. I was impressed. We wondered what it would be like if we lived in Tel Aviv instead of our sleepy suburb of Maaleh Adumim, and I warned Hubby that he'd have to earn three times as much because a) I would need to get through all the restaurants - at least for Friday brunch and b) the designer stores for clothing/furniture/house stuff were much more interesting than what you see in Jerusalem - and more expensive. We got to the ticket place only to find out that the tickets for Madonna's concert weren't printed out yet, and won't be until the 21st of June. Hubby wanted to argue with the ticket people, but I told him it was pointless when signs were posted all over the place about the new date for pick up. A bit disheartened at two failed errands, we walked the rest of Ibn Gavirol Street until the street turned lush and shady, less trendy, with more middle-class families eating at greasy spoons on the street. We were right at the edge of Yarkon Park where we walked on the bicycle path towards the Port. There were people out canoeing in the kryptonite-green Yarkon river, which stunk at one picturesque point - which was an absolute shame. Aren't they supposed to be cleaning up the beautiful river?

We asked English-speaking bicycle riders for directions to the Port, and they pointed us in the direction. I told them we were "hicks from Jerusalem". Ah, yes, so were they, they laughed. "Good thing I didn't say we were white trash from Jerusalem, eh?" I ribbed Hubby.

We dropped our weary selves onto Comme Il Faut cafe right by the sea. I didn't care if breakfast was $1,000 at this point. We ordered a breakfast for two, gouda cheese, salmon, sparkling wine (!), salad, eggs with ricotta and hyssop, olives, labane cheese, cream cheese, good nutty bread, home-made jam, and carrot juice. I didn't want to leave! The sound of the waves was soothing and then an old, fat guy who we recognized from the Elvis Inn, who thinks he looks like Elvis, was walking up and down smiling at his "fans" sitting at the cafes, while he carried his beat-up guitar. Well that sight was more amusing than soothing.

We made our way to Ben Yehuda Street to wait for the Pride Parade to pass this way. I decided that seeing the Gay Parade in Jerusalem was too stressful, with all the Hareidi demonstrators who sometimes turn violent against the marchers. It's not fun for me at all. But there were no hecklers out today, at least none that I saw. Hubby found a sex shop on the street, and walked in. I couldn't do anything but follow him inside, and thanked God that I don't know a soul in Tel Aviv, and that no one knows me either. We spent the first few minutes chuckling at all the contraptions, looking like Virgin Sex Store Shoppers, which we are. We ended up asking the pretty saleswoman all sorts of questions - like how do you use this and how do you use that. One contraption was so amusing that she said all the "girls" buy for themselves. It looked like the kind of beaded necklace I used to string together when I was a kid, but they went from small to large beads. I will not explain further, so do not ask me. This is a relatively clean blog, except for my bad language.

We made a hasty exit, not buying a damn thing (it wasn't on our spending plan), because we heard the marchers coming our way. As I knew, the parade was fun, lots of drag queens, lots of young kids - mostly young kids marching, and many of the guys with lovely bodies (for me) to look at. Some wore very interesting outfits, and if I can ever get the photos of the parade out of my husband's phone, I'll post them, but if not, I'm sure I can find them somewhere on line. Yes, I just did and they're here . We decided to hit the beach with the rest of the party and got us some chairs with an umbrella a few feet from the water. The chairs were well worth the money but the expensive beer and mojitos weren't. We people-watched for a couple of hours until the sun nearly set.

The privately-run mini-vans do run on the Sabbath and we were able to easily get back to our city. So if you're secular, need to "get away" and find Jerusalem stifling when you're not feeling particularly spiritual one weekend, it's easy to just hop into one of those mini-vans and head out to Tel Aviv.