Ben Yehuda Mall

The wonderful Dr. Michael Goldsmith--Australian ex-pat--- made a hotel house call with his nurse around 10:00 tonight--had t0 wait until after Shabbos--to make sure nothing serious was growing inside my inner ear. Apparently I have a sinus attack plus a wicked allergy (to the rare winds that have kicked up these past few days) that spread to my ears but no infection, thankfully. Still as a precaution, I am now loaded up on different antibiotics special for ear infections (Augmentin) plus a nasal spray, antihistamine and pure menthol eucalyptus oil to inhale with steam a couple of times a day. I need to be fully cured before I fly home on July 6th as not to damage my hearing any more than it already is.

So, I hauled it in a taxi to Super Pharm, in the Ben Yehuda Pedestrian Mall to get there before they close. The Mall is in the city of Jerusalem itself, not the Old City. At close to midnight the Mall Promenade was packed with families enjoying a late stroll and ice cream post Shabbos. The hundreds of young people on the various Birthright tours, http://www.birthrightisrael.com/site/PageServer made up most of the foot traffic. In fact, these groups are everywhere. It's really incredible to see them, a few dozen high school and college age kids to each group, being escorted by adults their same age or just a bit older. But the alternate universe thing is that each of these groups are guarded by at least two young Israeli soldiers in civilian dress, like shorts, T-shirts and carrying a rifle like it was just a part of their hanging out gear. Seriously disconcerting for an American like me, but so normal for the Israelis here. If you don't know Israel's history, Ben Yehuda is like any other street mall. Think the 3rd Street Promenade in Santa Monica and you get the idea. In reality it is anything but pedestrian--as in boring-- you'd never know how blood stained the pavement really is. http://www.zionism-israel.com/dic/Ben_Yehuda_Bombing.htm

This is the most amazing thing to me about Israel. You'd never know the horrible events had ever happened. People go about their day, the security --and it is deserving of its legendary status---is a fact of life. Israelis are not like those of us, mostly Americans, who bitch when we have to take off our shoes to get on a plane. Israelis live with these threats every day.

And on the other side, it is equally strange to me that the Palestinians and other Arabs that make up a huge part of this country are the danger. If anything it seems sometimes that at least here in the Old City they live their daily lives trying to ignore the other. All day today I watched as Orthodox families hurried through the Shouk, the Muslim Quarter on their way to the Jewish Quarter and the Kotel, the Wailing Wall, looking past the Arabs selling their wares in the Shouk. If anything, the T-Shirt proclaiming Palestine with Arafat's face hangs next to the T-Shirt that proclaims the superiority of the IDF, and no one seems to mind.

Here in Jerusalem, the term peaceful co-existence, that buzzword tossed around by so many who are so quick to give advice on how to solve the conflict, on how to get along, including, I might add with complete chagrin, my hypocritical self, have really no idea what they are talking about. Until you are really here, until you physically are jostled by both sides just trying to walk through the Souk shoppes, you don't know a damn thing of what both sides need.

The other thing that really comes into neon bright focus is how wrong a picture the media paints of Israel, of the Palestinians, and of the Conflict.

But that will have to be my film at 11 teaser for another post coming soon....right now I have to get some sleep because I am going to Jordan and Petra tomorrow morning to hang out with Lana, Fulbright Fellow and Friend extraordinaire...

Bu for now, I wish for this Conflict to become a T-Shirt War.

Listening Versus Hearing in Jerusalem

So...on the flight here, one of the benefits to flying Biz Class in those Star Trek type pod beds is the incessant air conditioning blast. No matter what I did, even covering most of my face with a baseball hat and breathing through the blanket, my sinuses got nailed. I had a sinus headache for most of the flight and for the day and night after. And, from the stove to freezer conditions of Tel Aviv, Thursday all day I felt the blood pulsating in my ears. And then yesterday morning, Friday, I awoke to my right ear being completely blocked up. I cannot hear out of it at all. Now today, Saturday, my left ear is only slightly less so. No real pain, just feel like an entire pound of cotton are packed tightly in each side. I always travel with a precautionary ZPAK, so immediately started that course, and yesterday afternoon went to the pharmacy for Sudafed and Nose drops. So far, nothing has worked. My hotel arranged for a doctor's appointment tonight, after Shabbat. I am nervous because years ago in East Africa I flew with an ear infection and lost about half of my hearing in my right ear.

But I think there is something else at work here. I am trying to listen to myself, to my soul on this journey, and Jerusalem IS overwhelming in that respect. In Tel Aviv it is easy to be fully me, I feel at home pretty much more than anywhere else. Tel Aviv society is open, sexy, fun, vibrant, with attitude to burn, it is a place where you can be fully YOU, no matter who or what you are. It's live and let live, live for today, because, with the rest of the region gunning for you, there might not be a tomorrow. People hook up for pure joy and need for physical contact. There is literally no word for dating in the Hebrew language. You go out, you have fun, you spend time if you want to. There's no trial period, no getting to know the person cautiously. Going out to the Lesbian hot spot restaurant and newly renovated men's gay bar with my new friend Shally, (the gay brother of Israeli friends in LA), it seems that everyone is open and out in Tel Aviv.

In Jerusalem, my inner homophobia comes out. To be sure, the Gay Pride Parade was a couple of days ago, and it was peaceful this time and a couple of thousand people attended. But....and yet...I can't. There is something in me about wanting to be able to sit at the same table -- literally, and I can't get out of my head the anti-gay poison my years hanging out with those Chabadniks placed within me that make me think that if I am out that seat at the table is off limits. Last night I sat with Yitzhak, the Mischeach, the one who makes sure the food is prepared according to kosher specifications. He's a clinical psychologist in his fifties with four grown sons. He's an Orthodox Jew who keeps the laws. Immediately he tells me that his wife died years and years ago, and now that his four sons are all self-sufficient he is lonely and would like to remarry. He then said, "I have trouble finding women." I wanted to reply, "Same here." but I couldn't. One of his sons sat with us along with his Mother, a really great woman in her mid-80's. Yitzak is a really nice guy, and I feel for him. He would be catch for some nice women who wants to make an Orthodox Kosher home. He made comments that he was charmed by me, but the more he said and the more I sat there making conversation with his kids and his Mom the more my ears plugged up and created an almost out of body feeling, as if I were split off, distant to myself. I am. Being here in Jerusalem I am me as far as being a Jew, but I am not fully me.

Yesterday I went to the Kotel, to the Wailing Wall to pray. As is tradition, I placed a couple of notes in the cracks in the Wall. One is for the health of my loved ones. The other one is to find my Beshert, my soul mate. Today I went again, and just touched the Wall and prayed to be released from this ridiculous homophobia, from this torment. 

Part 2: Seven Impressions about Jerusalem

A caveat to my Jerusalem Seven: Jerusalem is everything Tel Aviv is not. They could be two separate countries. Two separate planets actually. Jerusalem is cloistered where Tel Aviv is open. Jerusalem is (as the tour guide who picked me up in Tel Aviv said on the way here) covered up whereas Tel Aviv is practically naked, both physically and metaphorically. With that in mind, here are my Jerusalem Seven:

First, Jerusalem has incredible light. All the time. No matter if it is sunny or overcast, there is something Divine about the way the light falls. At night the sky seems to glow in its darkness. Second, the History overwhelms you. It is insistent, grabbing your psychic attention. The Hell and the Glory this center of the spiritual world has experienced emanates from the hills, from the walls, from the blood soaked soil. I seriously thought I was going insane and hearing voices, singing the ancient cantorial chants, the calls to prayer, the bells of the churches. Then I realized that it is not as imagined as I thought. It's just there, non-stop, and your spiritual antenna picks it up whether you like it or not. Third, Jerusalem is INTENSE. Really truly intense. Whereas in Tel Aviv they ask you if this is your first trip to Israel and want to know if you are enjoying yourself, in Jerusalem when they ask you the same question, but with a spin: they want to also know what side of the Situation you are on: Are you pro-Settlement, are you anti-Settlement, where do you stand on dividing Jerusalem (more about that in a moment) and if you are an American, they ask about Obama, hope mixed with distrust and fear. Fourth, size and distance are relative. Jews and Muslims are cousins, and, your "enemy" is literally on the other side of the street. Literally. Across. The. Street. Fourth, Jerusalem is oppressively SMALL. just .35 of a square mile. The distances are, not to be snarky, a stones throw away from each other. In the Old City, within the Walls, the Jewish Quarter and the Muslim Quarter and the Christian Quarter and the Armenian Quarter are within mere steps of each other. And regarding the Settlements, it's like Studio City is to Beverly Hills. For that matter, the drive from Tel Aviv to Jerusalem is less than an hour. Fifth, a lot of Israeli Soldiers are really barely just out of high school. Yesterday I was at the Jaffa Gate entrance when around twenty or so fully armed IDF men and women walked past on their way inside. I was floored as to how incredibly young they are. Sixth, pretty much everything is closed for Shabbat. The Souk is open for Muslims to do their shopping, and it's level of being crowded defies description. It is every stall folded in upon itself. Seven, and for me the most important lesson so far about being here, not only in Jerusalem but in Tel Aviv and I am sure it will hold true to the rest of my visit when I head up north to Haifa and Safed: No one, especially American Jews, or, for that matter, American Christians, have the right to tell Israel what to do politically. We don't live here. We are not sending our sons and daughters into their Army, or working to break bread and find common ground with our neighbors who are our enemies. We really do not have that right, and once I finally have come here that thought has truly resonated with the same intensity as the songs from the Judean Hills.

Strolling Tel Aviv

The smartest things I did before leaving LA were to buy a pair of super light weight Vasquez hiking boots to support my ankle, along with some great wool blend special socks, and get a prescription for industrial strength Ibuprofen. I walked everywhere, and loved taking photos with my Leicas--it's film for me on this pilgrimage. I toured the Flea Market and shoppes in the old City of Yafo (Jaffa) and the stalls in the Carmel Market. The beachfront is just gorgeous. I chilled out with a Campari and soda to watch the sunset at the Tel Aviv Port at this outdoor bar called "Speedo", with, yeah, you guessed it, posters of the trunks everywhere and the logo on everything.

Tel Aviv is small enough to walk a lot of the landmarks. Everywhere there are cafes and amazing fresh fruit vendors that make the most incredible fruit drinks. I'm talking a blend of complete fresh papaya, peach, banana and mangoes. Jamba Juice would never survive here. And the coffee. Seriously. As in the Goddess of Espresso saved her best grind for the Middle East. Even the instant coffee is good. No wonder Starbucks went broke here.

Seven Impressions Part 1: Tel Aviv and Jaffa

There are seven things I learned immediately---and if you know anything about the Jewish religion, the number seven is incredibly important (http://judaism.about.com/library/3_askrabbi_o/bl_simmons_seven.htm)

So, here are my Tel Aviv Seven:

First, hanging out in Tel Aviv is like being at someone else's party where you're the new guest and everyone welcomes you and you instantly feel at home. Second, the weather is SO hot and humid everyone from taxi cabs to the lobby of my Best Western Hotel keep the air conditioning WAY up. As in freezing. So you get completely sweat-drenched outside and icicles form on your sinuses when you go inside (more about the results of that later) Third, everyone has a dog, and takes it everywhere--I love this. If I were to move here, Leica would probably have more friends than I would. Fourth, the food is a taste orgasm! Super fresh, simply prepared but way beyond gourmet. Fifth, pretty much everyone smokes like a chimney. I have resisted the urge, but it's tempting to have something to do with my hands (Paging Miss Israel)...I think that's probably what gives me away as a foreigner: I don't gesture or reach out and touch as much. Sixth, everyone asks you if this is your first time in Israel. Everyone. From shopkeepers to the waiter to the coffee vendor. And when you answer yes, they are thrilled you are here, and want to make sure you love it, if there is anything you need, and how long you are going to stay. And if you are going to come back. No one just visits once. Seventh, Tel Aviv is incredibly sexy. It is one giant eye candy bazaar, with the most gorgeous men and women I have ever seen in one place. Just when you think you have lost your heart, another one comes along.

Explaning the Theory

I suppose I should explain the Theory of the KosmikSlingshot: You are living THE life you are supposed to live, in the career you just know in your gut you are meant to have, in the relationship with the person you are meant to be with, living in the location you are sure is Home with a capital H, and you are absolutely convinced, with all of your Being, that your Life is exactly as it should be. Then, something, or someone, or some occurrence, picks your ass up, and flings you to the opposite side of the Universe, either physically, emotionally, spiritually, financially, etc. You land hard, on your ass, and as you pick yourself up, you realize that this is where you are supposed to be living, in the career you are supposed to have, in or not in a different relationship, and that this is the life you are meant to live. If you are aware and listen to muse, there are more than one or two Kosmikslingshots in your life. And so to commemorate this, I have created a Kosmikslingshot Martini, as follows: 1/4 jigger of dry vermouth, 3/4 jigger of Gin and 1 jigger of Vodka. Shaken not stirred, and served with 3 olives, or, a slice of lemon depending on my mood. So, right now, at the end of my first few days in Tel Aviv, before I leave for Jerusalem early tomorrow morning, I am going to take myself out to the lovely cafes and bars along the Tel Aviv Port, and instruct the bartender how to make a KosmikSlingshot Martini.

"But your name is YAEL..."

When I finally landed at Ben Gurion Airport--yes, I cried when I peered out the plane's window into the night to glimps the approaching Tel Aviv skyline-- I made my way to passport check. I'd heard stories of how harsh security questioning might be, and so I was more or less prepared. Behind bulletproof glass, a lovely young Ethiopian soldier, braces still on her teeth, looked at my passport photo--with long hair, not this short Euro do I am sporting now---and looked me over. "Is this your first trip to Israel?" she asked. "Yes" I answered. Incredulous, she shot back: "But your name is YAEL". "I know, I know," I replied, embarrassed. "It's taken me forever but I am here now." I paused as her stare intensified. "Don't start or I might start crying again." I added. Her face broke into this huge grin. "Welcome to Israel, Yaeli." she said. "I'm glad you are finally here."

Finally got to my hotel--the Best Western Regency Suites-- around 12:30 AM. I wanted to make a L'Chaim but didn't have any booze. Asked the night clerk, a really lovely man, if there was anywhere I could get something with a decent alcohol percentage to toast I am finally here. "This is your first trip to Israel????" he exclaimed. "But your name is Yael!!" "I know, I know...where can I buy some scotch???" I asked.

So at 1:00 AM I took a short walk a couple blocks away to the AM/PM market. Immediately I felt safe. This is Israel, not LA. And no Glenlivit to be had on the spare liquor shelves at the AM/PM, just a pint of J&B. Bought that and a incredibly juicy plum and a couple of yogurts for the morning. Back in my room after a hot shower I toasted myself for finally making it here, to Israel.

LAX TO ATL TO TLV

I am sitting in the Sky Lounge in Hartsfield Airport in Atlanta waiting for my flight to Tel Aviv. Entering the Lounge, almost everywhere I looked, young women in long denim skirts, holding mini Siddurim (prayer books) were facing the eastern window and davening Minchah, the afternoon prayer. Beautifully backlit against the sunset, lightening speed muttering of the Hebrew under their breath, they held the tradition. A couple of men around in kippah (yarmulkes) too, doing a more high tech version, using their entire prayer book application IPhones and Blackberry. In the background CNN's coverage of Iran lends a surreal overlay to this, the second part of my beginning of my own Neshama Safari.

Marion and Dad and Facebook

So it's the other side of midnight, inching towards the spectre of an unwelcome all-nighter. I've had way too much caffeine today--two large strong coffees plus two double espressos, and way too much rich food---large Israeli feast and a huge piece of the most deadly chocolate mousse cake, and too much red wine. It was my lovely Israeli-Belgian friend Marion's combo 50th birthday and bon voyage party. She's seizing the moment and moving back to Israel in a few weeks. Her heart and soul are there, and so she's decided, together with her husband and two teenage sons, to follow her bliss even if it means her husband commutes from his career here and her oldest flies off to his first year at Tufts.

I rarely if ever eat like this, but I needed to fill an emptiness that was filling me with almost out of body anxiety.

I'm going to Israel for the first time in a little over a week. I'll be gone for two weeks and I am scared to death because although I am leaving while both parents are stable, at home, and going about their business, I have to be "okay" with the fact that my Dad's health is precarious at best, that my Mom tends to fall and hurt herself, and that anything --god forbid--can happen, even with their two and a half caregivers and 24 hour care.

They are equally anxious, probably even more so, because not only am I not going to be here for sixteen days, I am also going to a place that although almost always life goes on and nothing happens, is dangerous. That has always been the refrain of why I stay home: who will take care of them if something happens to me? I can't put them through "that".

A couple of days ago my Dad figured out how to get himself on Facebook. He'd heard everyone talk about it, and, so, somehow, he found the sign on page and registered. That's a pretty amazing feat for a nearly 87 year old man who suffers from diabeties and dialysis caused-dementia, who forgets more than he remembers and understands little where he once comprehended so much. But once he created his basic page, he could not remember how to get back on. He could not remember how to sign on again, or his password. It was like the person who had succeeded has suddenly failed miserably. During my daily check in phone call, he was upset, which had my Mom asking me for help.

So remotely, from the safety of my home computer, I reset his password and created his Facebook page. I added his favorite quote, the one all of us have ingrained in our collective family memory, said at least once a day to Ruthie Dear, but now only when he remembers: "Have I ever told you you're getting more and more beautiful as the days go by?" I added his obsession with Bach, his favorite TV show Seinfeld. I gave him a status update: Hyman is in dialysis for the next few hours and then back home to Ruthie Dear...

I was feeling pretty smug about all this, and even though it was about him, for him, the truth is it was more about me: It was fun, I could feel like I did something for him and it was another distraction from seious work I didn't want to do.

I stopped by their house on my way to Marion's party. Dad was sitting at the dinner table, clearly exhausted from his dialysis treatment. I explained I fixed his Facebook page. He was confused as to the terms, like log in and password and friend request. I wanted to get out of there and brushed off his frustration with my standard refrain: "I'll be over later this week and show you how to do it...gotta jet now." Too much in a rush, always convincing myself I am just too busy, too jammed, with really important things to do, (like sit in traffic) to spend more time lest I lose what is left of my so called important independent life.

Dad just looked at me, so incredibly sad, and started to cry. "I'm sorry you have to help me, I'm sorry I don't remember how, I'm sorry....I'm a burden." I kissed him and said don't worry, I will help you, it's okay, nothing to be sorry about....

Sitting in traffic on the way to the party I began to feel it. That panic of what I will feel when the inevitable happens, and I am here alone. I am terrified of loss. Really truly terrified.

Dad has decided to go to a breakfast meeting at Cedars at 7:30 AM. It's his first one in years. The driver will pick him up along with the caregiver and he will have his beloved bagels that he's not allowed and then come home. Stay tuned for his status update.