Two days ago, it rained. I thought I was hallucinating. It couldn't be raining: it's the dry season. But it was. A perfect downpour for thirty full seconds. I was on my way to the שוק (shuk).
I have befriended an Arab worker in my building. Our common language is Hebrew. He teaches me words and corrects my grammar. He teaches me some words in Arabic. Hebrew is coming faster now to the tip of my tongue, but it's still hard. His name is Jimmy.
Today, he took me to Yafo. We walked there and back from the apartments. He knows everyone. He took me to an amazing restaurant where they serve twelve plates of salads with every meal. And fresh lafa, pita, chumus, t'china, and the best tomato thing I've ever had in my life.
I got a "Mixed Grill" plate which gave me a taste of everything: a skewer of kebab and a skewer of chicken, plus a piece of lamb. It
also came with French fries but I wanted the bread more, so I didn't eat them. Then, the amazing desserts, which I allowed myself about a crumb of each. Tonight, I'm hosting two friends and I'll give them to them.
After the restaurant, we went to a sweets shop and Jimmy got me a pack of sugarless halva that's only 11 grams of carbohydrate per serving. I can't wait!
Really, I'm impressed with myself because almost all the conversation was in Hebrew. I was successful in explaining to him how and why I need to eat the way I do and in dispelling his confusion over why a "young, thin person" would have Diabetes because he thought it was only old fat people who got it. I explained the two types and the differences between them. He told me about all of his jobs and working around the country selling flowers and doing handy jobs.
He told me about having trouble with his eyes as a boy, and how he spent sixteen months in prison for not having a Jerusalem housing permit for a house that was not originally incorporated into municipal Jerusalem. He told me how his brothers have all traveled the world
and how, because he can't speak English well enough, he's denied visas. Most likely because Western countries think he's looking to come and stay for work. But he also
told me how much he earns per month and it's about 5 times as much as the average middle class US worker.
May 30, 2010
My friend, C. came to visit me last night. We went out to a bar after leaving the OTZMAnikim. We spent the whole night talking between there and the beach next to my apartment.
When it comes to the men I was talking about before, I think she has it worse than I do. By far. Some guy actually tried to grab her in the middle of the street.
Within the course of an hour, about ten guys approached us. We gave them a
variety of pseudonyms and humored them until they got the point. One African French guy gave us a whole monologue about how he just loves seeing two girl friends in a conversation and how he hopes that Providence will have him meet us somewhere again. His friend stood on the side and stared at him in open amusement the entire time.
We went to sleep around 3:30 and were out and about by 9:30. It took a while to find a place, but we finally did near the shuk. We talked more and had a great time. In the middle of our conversation, an old friend of hers walked in, something not uncommon here.
Tonight, I see Assaf after the last workshop with Korin Allal. There is one more meeting
with Korin, where we record in her house. I'm supposed to interview her afterwards.
When it comes to the interviews, I have quite a few more to do and so little time. I will do as many as possible now and the rest when I get back,which gives me time to finish the transcriptions and start reforming them into narratives mixed with my own. It also gives me time to start agent/publisher hunting. If I publish anything, this will be it.
Meanwhile, I'm debating putting my stuff in storage with people or sending it to Georgia via snail mail. Perhaps a combination. I've started sorting through all the stuff and getting rid of clothing and other items. If possible, I want to go back with as little as possible fit into one suitcase.
May 31, 2010
Today, the flotilla claiming to carry peace activists and humanitarian aid bound for Gaza was intercepted by the IDF and at least nine people died. The atmosphere here is tense. There is a loaded silence that hangs heavily between every word said and unsaid, from every action to the next.
"No one is more wrong or right in this situation," someone told me.
This country is chain smoking today. We can start a heated argument, the one that is the subtext of everything else here, or at least lingering in the backs of everyone's minds. It's the argument that never ends.
We can all argue "sovereignty" and "unjust blockades" or the prohibition of free movement for at least 1.5 million people.
But the double standard ignores that lifting the blockade and "not storming boats in international waters" and allowing "sovereignty" may give freedom to 1.5 million but may just as likely not--while at the same time put many more under threat. I hate playing the victim card.
Everyone, societally, is responsible. All parties here are aggressors and the victims of themselves. Then, there is the international community and we are just as responsible for assuming our opinions in ignorance, for not actually understanding anything or trying.
June 1, 2010
People are quieter today than usual. Morning traffic in Tel Aviv is atrocious like always, but there are more horns being honked. If that's even possible. Maybe I'm just imagining it. People shut their lips tightly, brace themselves for what they know is coming, and continue on in a pseudo-normal fashion.
I missed my bus by 45 seconds. I saw it pass me about 50 feet from the bus stop. It wouldn't stop for me. Everyone is frustrated. Another war is brewing and in some ways, it's already begun. Everyone complains about the government and its stupidity. All eyes are glued to the news: "They have to be. Knowing what's going on is just as necessary as needing to breathe".
Here, everyone is a reservist. And whether they're called or not, over 100% show up for duty in times of war, because although they hate the government and although they hate war even more, they love their country. I understand all too well.
This morning, we got a text message from OTZMA: "In addition to the Old City being off limits, the same goes for mixed Arab-Jewish communities (Acco, Haifa, Natzrat, Yaffo, Ramle, and Lod). Call...with Qs".
"This is segregation," was our first reaction in the apartment. But it is to keep us as safe as possible. There's a good chance of rioting in the streets in all of these areas and beyond. What this means for me is that I will not be able to conduct my interviews with
Arabs unless they are understanding enough to come to a place where I am allowed. This means I won't be able to finish my interviews until I get back. Hopefully, I will be able to come back.
"You must be insane," I am told. "For wanting to stay. For coming here in the first place."
I understand this, too. But I'd be more insane to stay away when I know the way in which the scale finds balance. I know which claims are lies and which are truths. I know which claims hover somewhere in between. And I know, most definitely, where I find happiness.
