Signs that your mall experience is an Israeli mall experience -
1)there are neo-pseudo Breslev hassidim doing an impromptu frenzied hora outside the supermarket
2)all the stores have specials for International Women's Day
3) those that don't are packed with costume accessories for Purim
4)but the single most popular item most people seemed to be taking home with them is a gas mask. (Or at least a cardboard box on a shoulder strap claiming to contain a gas mask.)
Don't panic, well not yet anyway. Israel distributed gas masks during the 1991 Gulf War, and then again when the US invaded Iraq in 2003. It's just a routine precaution. What, they don't do that where you live?
You know the way folks in big cities have eleventy billion locks on their doors just in case? We get issued gas masks, just in case one of our sweet peaceful neighbouring despots looses it one day and decides to let off steam by going postal against Israel with a non-conventional payload.
Back in 2003 everyone was so convinced that Saddam might decide to go out with a bang that Pikud Ha'Oref (Home Front Command) broadcast continuous instructional videos on Israeli television urging people to familiarise themselves with their masks by trying them on.
Very reassuring except that it meant that within a short time the masks were no longer effective because the filters were now unsealed and said filters had a limited lifespan once unsealed.
So is it a coincidence that Pikud Ha'Oref is redistributing gas masks just as the stores are full of Purim costumes? Perhaps it's in honour of the end of the First Gulf War? Special twentieth anniversary edition gas masks?
Wednesday, March 09, 2011
Friday, February 25, 2011
A few good men
It was one of those days when despite nothing coming together somehow everything did. One kid sick, one kid wanting to play with sick kid who wanted time by herself. Cue superkvetchiness all round.
Upside was that after a whole morning plus of bickering with each other baby tired himself out so much that he needed a three hour nap and big sister took the opportunity to hole up in her room with a stack of books which left me to do the Shabbat cooking in peace, and find time to get a casserole going for dinner and straighten up the flat.
By the time DH came home all I was missing was a 1950s Mad Menesque skirt and frilly apron. Dinner dear?
Only what actually happened was that DH walked in the door looking beat, announced that he didn't feel up to going out tonight as per our plans and instead suggested I take myself out tonight. So I did.
A Few Good Men is one of my favourite films, to the point, ethical dilemmas, courtroom drama, my kind of thing, so when I saw that the Israeli Beit Lessin theatre company was staging an Israeli production of the play I had to go see it.
I was very curious to see how an American military drama would translate over here and I have to say I thought it was tremendously well done in pretty much everyway from the top notch acting to the creative, evocative sets. Most of the time I didn't even notice it was in Hebrew, I was focused on the story, the hallmark of one well told I think.
The local theatre's promotional ad advertised well known Israeli film actor Lior Ashkenazi "in the role of Tom Cruise" which didn't make sense to me as Ashkenazi is too old to be playing the young rookie JAG. Well, they were mistaken, Ashkenazi reprised Jack Nicholson's role as the Marine colonel, and I thought he suited it well.
There was fine acting all round but the stand out was Mordy Gershon playing the lead as Lt Caffee, (Tom Cruise in the film) Gershon sparkled in the role, he felt real and natural, superbly conveying his character's journey from a deal making cog just trying to get by until his law school debt is covered to passionate defence attorney pulling out every stop for the sake of justice.
The play itself was I think of special interest to Israeli audiences precisely because it is a military legal drama with themes very relevant to so many in a country with a draft and volatile borders to guard. Seeing what could in many ways be an original Israeli drama portrayed through the lense of the US military was a fascinating exercise, sparking a lot of interesting debate among the audience during the interval.
The set featured mutli-layered platforms gave the stage depth and allowed for smooth merging and switching of scenes, such as between Guantanamo sketched out with institutional looking metal stairs in the background and with a foreground of polished wooden desks for the JAG offices. It sounds convoluted, but combined with subtle but spot on lighting, the effect was a perfect, understated compliment to the fine acting.
The only times I was painfully aware that this was an Israeli production were when I noticed glaring errors in translation, like the way a bunch of Marines and US Naval officers had lines about how proud they were to serve in the US Army. US Army? Hello, translator, there is a perfectly good Hebrew word for navy (tzi), not to mention that while I understand that when talking of the US military one can just say "Marines" in Hebrew, there is also a perfectly good (and used) Hebrew translation for Marines - nahatim.
And a tiny bit of research would have yielded the fact that there is a separate Dept of Navy responsible for both, and no Marine or naval officer that I know of would say they were serving in the US Army.
I know these details probably didn't matter to anyone else in the audience (DH would have told me to stop spoiling a good play with procedural nitpicking) but what can I say, I get pedantic about these things and it really bugged me that most of the Marines on stage weren't holding themselves in the manner that on duty Marines that I've seen would. Like the way the Lt JAG crossexamines his witness while slouching with his hands in his dress blues pockets or Lt Cmdr Galloway had her hair in a very un-regulation-like long dyed red plait hanging down her back with a puffed up quiff at the front while wearing her dress uniform to court or all the officers (except when they wore dress whites) appeared to have the same ranks - all had lieutenants' bars, even Colonel Jessop. Oops. You'd think that now JAG is off the air it might be easy to track down some surplus USN and Marines uniforms...
Those are just my nitpicks though, and while I do think they detracted somewhat from the atmosphere on stage, I'm pretty sure that for 99.99% of the audience these little errors made no difference to what was first class Israeli theatre. Bravo.
Upside was that after a whole morning plus of bickering with each other baby tired himself out so much that he needed a three hour nap and big sister took the opportunity to hole up in her room with a stack of books which left me to do the Shabbat cooking in peace, and find time to get a casserole going for dinner and straighten up the flat.
By the time DH came home all I was missing was a 1950s Mad Menesque skirt and frilly apron. Dinner dear?
Only what actually happened was that DH walked in the door looking beat, announced that he didn't feel up to going out tonight as per our plans and instead suggested I take myself out tonight. So I did.
A Few Good Men is one of my favourite films, to the point, ethical dilemmas, courtroom drama, my kind of thing, so when I saw that the Israeli Beit Lessin theatre company was staging an Israeli production of the play I had to go see it.
I was very curious to see how an American military drama would translate over here and I have to say I thought it was tremendously well done in pretty much everyway from the top notch acting to the creative, evocative sets. Most of the time I didn't even notice it was in Hebrew, I was focused on the story, the hallmark of one well told I think.
The local theatre's promotional ad advertised well known Israeli film actor Lior Ashkenazi "in the role of Tom Cruise" which didn't make sense to me as Ashkenazi is too old to be playing the young rookie JAG. Well, they were mistaken, Ashkenazi reprised Jack Nicholson's role as the Marine colonel, and I thought he suited it well.
There was fine acting all round but the stand out was Mordy Gershon playing the lead as Lt Caffee, (Tom Cruise in the film) Gershon sparkled in the role, he felt real and natural, superbly conveying his character's journey from a deal making cog just trying to get by until his law school debt is covered to passionate defence attorney pulling out every stop for the sake of justice.
The play itself was I think of special interest to Israeli audiences precisely because it is a military legal drama with themes very relevant to so many in a country with a draft and volatile borders to guard. Seeing what could in many ways be an original Israeli drama portrayed through the lense of the US military was a fascinating exercise, sparking a lot of interesting debate among the audience during the interval.
The set featured mutli-layered platforms gave the stage depth and allowed for smooth merging and switching of scenes, such as between Guantanamo sketched out with institutional looking metal stairs in the background and with a foreground of polished wooden desks for the JAG offices. It sounds convoluted, but combined with subtle but spot on lighting, the effect was a perfect, understated compliment to the fine acting.
The only times I was painfully aware that this was an Israeli production were when I noticed glaring errors in translation, like the way a bunch of Marines and US Naval officers had lines about how proud they were to serve in the US Army. US Army? Hello, translator, there is a perfectly good Hebrew word for navy (tzi), not to mention that while I understand that when talking of the US military one can just say "Marines" in Hebrew, there is also a perfectly good (and used) Hebrew translation for Marines - nahatim.
And a tiny bit of research would have yielded the fact that there is a separate Dept of Navy responsible for both, and no Marine or naval officer that I know of would say they were serving in the US Army.
I know these details probably didn't matter to anyone else in the audience (DH would have told me to stop spoiling a good play with procedural nitpicking) but what can I say, I get pedantic about these things and it really bugged me that most of the Marines on stage weren't holding themselves in the manner that on duty Marines that I've seen would. Like the way the Lt JAG crossexamines his witness while slouching with his hands in his dress blues pockets or Lt Cmdr Galloway had her hair in a very un-regulation-like long dyed red plait hanging down her back with a puffed up quiff at the front while wearing her dress uniform to court or all the officers (except when they wore dress whites) appeared to have the same ranks - all had lieutenants' bars, even Colonel Jessop. Oops. You'd think that now JAG is off the air it might be easy to track down some surplus USN and Marines uniforms...
Those are just my nitpicks though, and while I do think they detracted somewhat from the atmosphere on stage, I'm pretty sure that for 99.99% of the audience these little errors made no difference to what was first class Israeli theatre. Bravo.
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
Toast
Toast has never really been my thing, but a few months ago I just felt the need to buy a toaster. Nothing rational you understand, just the feeling that somehow it was missing from my life.
At least a decade and a half of a toaster-free existence and there I was, eyeing up the toasters in the store and walking home with a shiny new compact ultra-modern minimalist little number to add a touch of chic to my oh so not modern cluttered sort of rustic traditionalist kind of kitchen on whose counter it sat for quite a while looking totally out of place until one day I girded my loins and plucked up the courage to use the thing.
I set it on a cowardly number 2 setting, gingerly pressed down the trigger and waited.
Low and behold a few seconds later very faintly toasted bread popped out. No smoke. No charred edges.
Didn't quite feel right, but I served it to the kids with baked beans with mushrooms and sunny side up eggs, experiencing this vague feeling of playing at being mummy while I did so. Kids were thrilled. I felt a faint whiff of nostalgia for childhood tea times.
A few days later I tried again. This time I boldly set the toaster to 5, yielding surprisingly satisfyingly charrred edges to the toast, but not so much as to render it actual charcoal. I felt the stirrings of memory intensify, the scent of childhood breakfasts.
It wasn't quite what had drawn me to the toaster though. Something was missing
Two weeks later I found myself buying butter and marmalade. Butter I get from time to time, mostly to bake with or to make mac n'cheese. Marmalade though. I can't remember when I last bought marmalade. I don't even like marmalade. I don't even really like jam of any kind.
There it was though, an elegant little jar in my basket.
Once home I tried out my toaster again. Dark rye bread toasted to within an inch of its life on 6. Then I spread a thin layer of salted butter, topped with a heap teaspoon of marmalade.
I felt a twinge of something at the mere smell, but I was totally unprepared at the surge of emotion that washed over me at the first bite. Bittersweet like the marmalade, crisp and clear like the crunch of well toasted bread.
Oh Mum, how I've missed you.
No particular anniversary or memory, just the simple fact of being a mother myself I think, of wanting them to know the wonderful grandmother they'll never meet in real life.
Little things, like the smell and taste of her favourite breakfast, the way she liked her toast, her fondness for things crisp, bitter and tangy over sweet or plain.
My mother always joked that her madeleines really were madeleines. I joked that she just read too many French books.
At least a decade and a half of a toaster-free existence and there I was, eyeing up the toasters in the store and walking home with a shiny new compact ultra-modern minimalist little number to add a touch of chic to my oh so not modern cluttered sort of rustic traditionalist kind of kitchen on whose counter it sat for quite a while looking totally out of place until one day I girded my loins and plucked up the courage to use the thing.
I set it on a cowardly number 2 setting, gingerly pressed down the trigger and waited.
Low and behold a few seconds later very faintly toasted bread popped out. No smoke. No charred edges.
Didn't quite feel right, but I served it to the kids with baked beans with mushrooms and sunny side up eggs, experiencing this vague feeling of playing at being mummy while I did so. Kids were thrilled. I felt a faint whiff of nostalgia for childhood tea times.
A few days later I tried again. This time I boldly set the toaster to 5, yielding surprisingly satisfyingly charrred edges to the toast, but not so much as to render it actual charcoal. I felt the stirrings of memory intensify, the scent of childhood breakfasts.
It wasn't quite what had drawn me to the toaster though. Something was missing
Two weeks later I found myself buying butter and marmalade. Butter I get from time to time, mostly to bake with or to make mac n'cheese. Marmalade though. I can't remember when I last bought marmalade. I don't even like marmalade. I don't even really like jam of any kind.
There it was though, an elegant little jar in my basket.
Once home I tried out my toaster again. Dark rye bread toasted to within an inch of its life on 6. Then I spread a thin layer of salted butter, topped with a heap teaspoon of marmalade.
I felt a twinge of something at the mere smell, but I was totally unprepared at the surge of emotion that washed over me at the first bite. Bittersweet like the marmalade, crisp and clear like the crunch of well toasted bread.
Oh Mum, how I've missed you.
No particular anniversary or memory, just the simple fact of being a mother myself I think, of wanting them to know the wonderful grandmother they'll never meet in real life.
Little things, like the smell and taste of her favourite breakfast, the way she liked her toast, her fondness for things crisp, bitter and tangy over sweet or plain.
My mother always joked that her madeleines really were madeleines. I joked that she just read too many French books.
I've just discovered that my madeleines are apparently burnt toast and marmalade.
Tuesday, February 08, 2011
Rainy days and Mondays (are good for you)
I think one of my favourite things in the world must be coming home wet and muddy from a walk in the woods in the middle of a verdant Israeli winter. If my clothes reek of damp earth and woodsmoke from sitting around a campfire, so much the better.
The folks who organised my kid's morning in the forest certainly knew what they were talking about when they refused to allow rain to stop play, at least until at lunchtime it turned into a real downpour complete with hail. By then though everyone had enjoyed several hours of stories, crafts and running around and was about ready to scramble into their vehicles and head for home anyway.
Our outings to the woods have become a regular activity this year. J scampers off with her group and madrikha (youth leader) doing a good impression of Peter Pan and the Lost Boys climbing trees and making things from the forest floor's raw materials, while the toddler makes nature his playground with dry carob pod rattles to shake and twigs for scratching the dirt. Little wonder I guess that "tree" was amongst his first few clearly distinct words.
Today in the rain the madrikh taught the children how to safely and responsibly build a campfire, how to keep it burning in the drizzle, what kind of kindling works best to start a fire, which to maintain it, how damp wood would make it smoke and crucially, how to put it out. The tragedy of the Carmel fire is still in everyone's thoughts and with bonfires so much a part of the local culture teaching fire safetly to such young children is more prudent than ever. Only you can prevent forest fires. Indeed.
As the kids and a few parents gathered around the crackling fire the madrikh donned a silly hat and spun ever more complex yarns featuring animal folk tales from around the world. The children interjected comments or corrections now and then, my budding little story teller volunteering one of her original creations.
The rain beat down from time to time, some folks huddled under umbrellas or in their hooded anoraks, other just enjoyed the sensation, keeping warm by the fire as the rain soaked into their hair and clothes.
Even during the unseaonally warm days of dry drought, the green carobs and eucalyptus offered respite from the yellow browness of a landscape which should have been greened by winter weeks (and later months) earlier.
Using the miracle word here is to be sure a cliche, but that's just what it feels like now that winter has finally arrived, watching the land come to life again, finding freshly grown grass and shoots sprouting from the dust. Today we found carpets of pink cyclamen, clumps of tall white asphodels, covered in raindrops as though adorned by diamonds. All kinds of unfurling leaves promise even more delights on our next visit.
The folks who organised my kid's morning in the forest certainly knew what they were talking about when they refused to allow rain to stop play, at least until at lunchtime it turned into a real downpour complete with hail. By then though everyone had enjoyed several hours of stories, crafts and running around and was about ready to scramble into their vehicles and head for home anyway.
Our outings to the woods have become a regular activity this year. J scampers off with her group and madrikha (youth leader) doing a good impression of Peter Pan and the Lost Boys climbing trees and making things from the forest floor's raw materials, while the toddler makes nature his playground with dry carob pod rattles to shake and twigs for scratching the dirt. Little wonder I guess that "tree" was amongst his first few clearly distinct words.
Today in the rain the madrikh taught the children how to safely and responsibly build a campfire, how to keep it burning in the drizzle, what kind of kindling works best to start a fire, which to maintain it, how damp wood would make it smoke and crucially, how to put it out. The tragedy of the Carmel fire is still in everyone's thoughts and with bonfires so much a part of the local culture teaching fire safetly to such young children is more prudent than ever. Only you can prevent forest fires. Indeed.
As the kids and a few parents gathered around the crackling fire the madrikh donned a silly hat and spun ever more complex yarns featuring animal folk tales from around the world. The children interjected comments or corrections now and then, my budding little story teller volunteering one of her original creations.
The rain beat down from time to time, some folks huddled under umbrellas or in their hooded anoraks, other just enjoyed the sensation, keeping warm by the fire as the rain soaked into their hair and clothes.
Even during the unseaonally warm days of dry drought, the green carobs and eucalyptus offered respite from the yellow browness of a landscape which should have been greened by winter weeks (and later months) earlier.
Using the miracle word here is to be sure a cliche, but that's just what it feels like now that winter has finally arrived, watching the land come to life again, finding freshly grown grass and shoots sprouting from the dust. Today we found carpets of pink cyclamen, clumps of tall white asphodels, covered in raindrops as though adorned by diamonds. All kinds of unfurling leaves promise even more delights on our next visit.
Friday, January 28, 2011
The long and the short of it
It's Tu B'Shvat time again so of course I had to plan a nature walk up on our little wilderness hill to see if despite the late rain and extended drought some of the seasonal flowers are in bloom, and most importantly, to check out the almond trees.
This is the first time I've had two walking children to take on the annual family Tu B'Shvatish ramble. OK, so one still has a distinctly toddlerish gait to him and as far as I can tell no concept of Tu B'Shvat or even what day of the week it is, but thank God, he has two very keen eyes and is incredibly observant, so maybe he got more out of the walk than I thought he would.
J is an aspiring botanist and naturalist among other things. She confidently led the way pointing out things she recognised and in between getting carried away and running ahead she also made time to take the little guy's hand and teach him a little about the local flora, inviting him to rub his fingers on the leaves of sage and za'atar plants and then to sniff them while intoning breathless mini-lectures to him along the lines of "Baby, this is sage, it tastes good in cooking, Ima puts it on potatoes and you can make tea with it to make a tummy ache feel better and I think Abba puts it in the meat when he makes it for the Seder and in another few weeks maybe it will have little white crescent shaped flowers".
Baby smiled, laughed, pleased at the attention, but before she was finished had already noticed something else, maybe an ant highway or a beetle. I sometimes think that his fondness for ants in particular is simply that he can say their name so easily. Or maybe it's just an affinity for creatures so small and low to the ground. Regardless, he loves them. Perhaps it's just that a fascination with creeping things runs in the family. We tend to get strange looks when as a family we all stop in our tracks and stoop to study a passing beetle or millipede.
A few metres on and J excitedly left the path to investigate a huge clump of leaves, proclaiming it to be a "child sized forest". It was actually a clump of giant asphodel leaves, some with tall sticks of buds, a scant two or three already with flowers. "Ah yes, asphodels, these are commonly found around the Mediterranean" she announced confidently. "I learnt that from David Attenborough".
Further along her excited shouts announced great clumps of cyclamen leaves, followed by a shrill whoop when she found two actually in flower, and even greater excitement ensued when she finally found Eretz Israel irises, a low ground-hugging white and yellow iris, among the first flowers to bloom during the rainy season.
The bright red crown anemones are always a treat, only a handful were out, late by usual standards, but considering the lack of rain, that was no surprise. What did surprise me though was J's insistence that some were in fact nuriot (buttercups). I patiently explained that I thought it was too early for nuriot, and anyway, these all looked like anemones to me, but she adamantly studied each one of the few flowers on the hillside and insisted that she'd counted the petals on each and that one had the wrong number of petals for an anemone so it must be a nurit. Her brother chose this moment to tire of toddling, so it was back to the buggy on the path and no chance for me to check her findings in the field.
While the kids focused on the ground my sights were set on higher things. From my (comparatively) lofty height, it was my job to scan the hillside for almond blossom. I saw a paltry few blooms here and there, but mostly the almond trees were disappointingly bare.
All that is, except for one on a west facing slope overlooking the town. There in all it's glory was an almond tree in full bloom, a huge cloud of delicate white-pink blossoms like a giant cotton candy fluff on the hillside. Couldn't have asked for better. J ran excitedly down the rocky path to get a closer look. I tried to draw her brother's attention to it but at that moment a jay flew by and enthusiastic birdwatcher that he is all he could see was the "Bir! Bir! Bir!". Chacun a son gout as my grandmother used to say.
Monday, December 13, 2010
Shore leave
Really and truly had a date night, how cool is that ?! It's been, well, I really don't know, but a LOOOONG time since DH and I got some downtime all to ourselves to go out and pretend to be carefree newlyweds again. Does that make me sound really old? Hmm.
We found a real babysitter complete with teenage angst, boundless energy and an impressive variety of bodypiercings (and an excellent rapport with the household little people). I only called her twice while we were out and when we got home the kids were asleep and the next morning Junior reported that she'd had a great time and could we go out again and have G come to stay with them?
So what to do with all this freedom? Continue with DH's musical education I guess.
John Lee Hooker Jr, yes, the son of, was in Tel Aviv as part of a European tour and it sounded like a fun way to spend a grown-ups' night out, and boy was it ever. The sheer energy of the man is unbelievable, his dance moves, showmanship, never mind the funky music. Way to make an old married couple of 30something feel young? Watch an almost 60something prance around on stage like he's 21. Very inspiring. I want to have dance moves like John Lee Hooker Jr when I'm nearly 60.
A friend of mine said you can't do R&B (and I mean old time R&B) without a smoky bar and a few pints of beer in front of you, so I guess I couldn't convey the complete experience to DH because a)it was a nightclub outfitted to look vaguely 1930ish with red crystal chandeliers and seating at neat little tables b) however it was still 2010 so no smoking c) DH was driving, so no booze for him and I was so darn knackered that if I'd drunk anything alchoholic I would have facepalmed right into the table raucous electric blues or no raucous electric blues. We made do with lemonade. Hardly authentic, but we're realists.
He sang a lot of original material, catchy in a funky, electric sort of way, some funny wry lyrics which were as much fun as the music. I think the crowd responded even more warmly though to the covers of his father's stuff, not surprising, they are just so well known. Truth be told though TA responds warmly to pretty much any act that comes from abroad, this is a coastal city with its eyes to the world. Bunch of the audience were a typical young crowd there for a night out, whatever the act. There were quite a few expats and tourists consuming far more copious amounts of alcohol than the locals from what I could see, quite scary to watch the sheer extent of the beer guzzling at the next table. Noticed a fair number of oldtimers too though, fans of Hooker Sr, every bit as enthusiastic as the "kids". I thought it was kind of cool to see that mixed an audience, and I don't think anyone was disappointed, it was music to get you up and moving whatever your age or nationality.
Overall though it was fun, energising and just plain liberating to go out as adults for once. And the warm up act, a local R&B/Blues outfit called Sobo, were pretty cool too.
Would I do it again? I already have a list of concerts I'd love to get to and another list of possible babysitters lined up. 'Bout time.
We found a real babysitter complete with teenage angst, boundless energy and an impressive variety of bodypiercings (and an excellent rapport with the household little people). I only called her twice while we were out and when we got home the kids were asleep and the next morning Junior reported that she'd had a great time and could we go out again and have G come to stay with them?
So what to do with all this freedom? Continue with DH's musical education I guess.
John Lee Hooker Jr, yes, the son of, was in Tel Aviv as part of a European tour and it sounded like a fun way to spend a grown-ups' night out, and boy was it ever. The sheer energy of the man is unbelievable, his dance moves, showmanship, never mind the funky music. Way to make an old married couple of 30something feel young? Watch an almost 60something prance around on stage like he's 21. Very inspiring. I want to have dance moves like John Lee Hooker Jr when I'm nearly 60.
A friend of mine said you can't do R&B (and I mean old time R&B) without a smoky bar and a few pints of beer in front of you, so I guess I couldn't convey the complete experience to DH because a)it was a nightclub outfitted to look vaguely 1930ish with red crystal chandeliers and seating at neat little tables b) however it was still 2010 so no smoking c) DH was driving, so no booze for him and I was so darn knackered that if I'd drunk anything alchoholic I would have facepalmed right into the table raucous electric blues or no raucous electric blues. We made do with lemonade. Hardly authentic, but we're realists.
He sang a lot of original material, catchy in a funky, electric sort of way, some funny wry lyrics which were as much fun as the music. I think the crowd responded even more warmly though to the covers of his father's stuff, not surprising, they are just so well known. Truth be told though TA responds warmly to pretty much any act that comes from abroad, this is a coastal city with its eyes to the world. Bunch of the audience were a typical young crowd there for a night out, whatever the act. There were quite a few expats and tourists consuming far more copious amounts of alcohol than the locals from what I could see, quite scary to watch the sheer extent of the beer guzzling at the next table. Noticed a fair number of oldtimers too though, fans of Hooker Sr, every bit as enthusiastic as the "kids". I thought it was kind of cool to see that mixed an audience, and I don't think anyone was disappointed, it was music to get you up and moving whatever your age or nationality.
Overall though it was fun, energising and just plain liberating to go out as adults for once. And the warm up act, a local R&B/Blues outfit called Sobo, were pretty cool too.
Would I do it again? I already have a list of concerts I'd love to get to and another list of possible babysitters lined up. 'Bout time.
Sunday, December 05, 2010
Hannukah miracles and silver linings
This Hannukah we've certainly had an unwanted kind of light shining in the darkness, a raging, blazing fire right in the middle of the Festival of Light. Instead of lighting candles the country is busy dousing flames.
I would say there was a silver lining in this Hannukah's tragedy, only there really aren't any grey clouds to be seen unless you count plumes of smoke.
The lights of the Hannukiya though are there to remind us of the great Hannukah miracle all those millennia ago, how a foreign power came and tried to extinguish Jewish life in Eretz Yisrael, snuff out all observance of the Torah and enforce Hellenisation of the Jews. It didn't work though because we fought back and succeeded in restoring our religious and cultural autonomy, even if Judea remained a vassal state to the mighty Seleucids. You can't always have it all, but you should be gratetful for what you do have.
There was a Rasputin clone (if Rasputin wore ragged jeans and t-shirts) in the post office on Thursday ranting about how the burning of the Carmel, site of Elijah's famous showdown with the false prophets of Ba'al, was a message from God, a sign that the end is nigh. Bunch of folks there, religious and secular alike, were quick to point out that he was seeing things that weren't, that there is no prophecy in our age and would he kindly just shut up and let folks get on with doing post officey things.
Well maybe there are still prophets among us and maybe not, but it doesn't mean God isn't active in the world and doesn't mean we can't learn from events. Question is what are we meant to learn?
Maybe that we're better off than we often think. On this holiday when we celebrate the survival of our nation and culture and faith in the face of Antiochus' decrees which tried to force us to assimilate into the Hellenic world, isn't there something wonderful about a modern independent Jewish state receiving aid from those very Hellenic nations?
It's sad that we need it, sad that maybe the shortsightedness of our leaders required us to have to call in favours from friend and not so much friend alike, but fact is they came running to our aid, treating us like an equal, a fellow sovereign state among the nations. And what's more, many came while expressing their gratitude for the aid we have offered over the years to so many nations in their time of need. It's never easy to ask for help, but how incredible when so many gladly heed the call.
I'm not suggesting this is any great comfort to the 41 who lost their lives, to the many more who lost their homes, their livestock, their life's work. But it is a comfort to a nation which increasingly has to battle hateful lies and attempts at total delegitimisation as part of an ongiong propaganda war against the Jewish state.
It's a war of attrition our enemies have been waging for decades now, rewriting history, denying our right to this land, to our holiest shrines. Even respectable, educated people get taken in by it as we saw with the recent UNESCO decisions denying Judaism's link to the cradles of Jewish history, the Cave of the Patriarchs in Hebron (whose exactly? Um, I wonder) and Rachel's Tomb in Bethlehem. Who in their right minds would think that biblical figures like Abraham and Rachel might have anything to do with the Jews?!
The sweet folks behind the assorted anti-Israel delegitimisation campaigns are trying to make us despondent, make us believe that their campaign has made us a pariah state. Their constant harping about divestment and sanctions and boycotts is designed not just to hurt us economically, but to demoralise, make us doubt our survival and purpose and ability to survive. They want us scared of what the future will bring. They want us isolated from the world, cut off from the rest of civilisation.
They want us to think that we have no one to rely on, no friends, no allies.
This weekend's crisis was a massive slap in the face to those enemies. I'm not deluding myself into thinking that suddenly the world loves us, because, well, they have their own interests and we are still just a small country and there are lots of bigger or richer countries who really don't like us and the nations of the world don't think it's in their interest to alienate them by being too friendly with us. I get that. But still, even Jordan and Egypt, despite domestic opposition, sent us aid. Even Turkey with whom we really haven't been getting on well of late. Even Russia which is kind of buddy buddy with some of our worst enemies.
I don't pretend they did it from love, but I hope perhaps they did it in the knowledge that Israel has extended assistance again and again, whether it was the Armenian earthquake in '88 or the 1999 earthquakes in Turkey and Greece, or in '97 when Israel sent firefighting helicopters to Turkey to put out a massive out of control blaze or the 2005 relief efforts to southern Asia after the tsunami, to name just a few.
Many in the world may choose to hate us, but they do know that Israel has and will come through for them over and over again to offer humanitarian aid in time of crisis. Surely as a Jewish nation founded on the notion of being Or Lagoyim, a Light Unto the Nations, that is part of our purpose, to set an example for how decent people the world over should behave. It's a principle laid down in our most sacred texts - even if you see the ox or the donkey of your enemy collapsing under its burden you are required to help. If we've helped to spread that concept around, then we're fulfilling at least part of our mission.
This Hannukah's miracle is very much bittersweet, there's no denying it, and yes, maybe we imagine a miracle as Hashem opening the heavens at exactly the right time and dousing the flames with rain, but we need to open our eyes wider and appreciate the miracle of civilised peoples helping one another. In a crazy fickle world that isn't something to be taken for granted.
I would say there was a silver lining in this Hannukah's tragedy, only there really aren't any grey clouds to be seen unless you count plumes of smoke.
The lights of the Hannukiya though are there to remind us of the great Hannukah miracle all those millennia ago, how a foreign power came and tried to extinguish Jewish life in Eretz Yisrael, snuff out all observance of the Torah and enforce Hellenisation of the Jews. It didn't work though because we fought back and succeeded in restoring our religious and cultural autonomy, even if Judea remained a vassal state to the mighty Seleucids. You can't always have it all, but you should be gratetful for what you do have.
There was a Rasputin clone (if Rasputin wore ragged jeans and t-shirts) in the post office on Thursday ranting about how the burning of the Carmel, site of Elijah's famous showdown with the false prophets of Ba'al, was a message from God, a sign that the end is nigh. Bunch of folks there, religious and secular alike, were quick to point out that he was seeing things that weren't, that there is no prophecy in our age and would he kindly just shut up and let folks get on with doing post officey things.
Well maybe there are still prophets among us and maybe not, but it doesn't mean God isn't active in the world and doesn't mean we can't learn from events. Question is what are we meant to learn?
Maybe that we're better off than we often think. On this holiday when we celebrate the survival of our nation and culture and faith in the face of Antiochus' decrees which tried to force us to assimilate into the Hellenic world, isn't there something wonderful about a modern independent Jewish state receiving aid from those very Hellenic nations?
It's sad that we need it, sad that maybe the shortsightedness of our leaders required us to have to call in favours from friend and not so much friend alike, but fact is they came running to our aid, treating us like an equal, a fellow sovereign state among the nations. And what's more, many came while expressing their gratitude for the aid we have offered over the years to so many nations in their time of need. It's never easy to ask for help, but how incredible when so many gladly heed the call.
I'm not suggesting this is any great comfort to the 41 who lost their lives, to the many more who lost their homes, their livestock, their life's work. But it is a comfort to a nation which increasingly has to battle hateful lies and attempts at total delegitimisation as part of an ongiong propaganda war against the Jewish state.
It's a war of attrition our enemies have been waging for decades now, rewriting history, denying our right to this land, to our holiest shrines. Even respectable, educated people get taken in by it as we saw with the recent UNESCO decisions denying Judaism's link to the cradles of Jewish history, the Cave of the Patriarchs in Hebron (whose exactly? Um, I wonder) and Rachel's Tomb in Bethlehem. Who in their right minds would think that biblical figures like Abraham and Rachel might have anything to do with the Jews?!
The sweet folks behind the assorted anti-Israel delegitimisation campaigns are trying to make us despondent, make us believe that their campaign has made us a pariah state. Their constant harping about divestment and sanctions and boycotts is designed not just to hurt us economically, but to demoralise, make us doubt our survival and purpose and ability to survive. They want us scared of what the future will bring. They want us isolated from the world, cut off from the rest of civilisation.
They want us to think that we have no one to rely on, no friends, no allies.
This weekend's crisis was a massive slap in the face to those enemies. I'm not deluding myself into thinking that suddenly the world loves us, because, well, they have their own interests and we are still just a small country and there are lots of bigger or richer countries who really don't like us and the nations of the world don't think it's in their interest to alienate them by being too friendly with us. I get that. But still, even Jordan and Egypt, despite domestic opposition, sent us aid. Even Turkey with whom we really haven't been getting on well of late. Even Russia which is kind of buddy buddy with some of our worst enemies.
I don't pretend they did it from love, but I hope perhaps they did it in the knowledge that Israel has extended assistance again and again, whether it was the Armenian earthquake in '88 or the 1999 earthquakes in Turkey and Greece, or in '97 when Israel sent firefighting helicopters to Turkey to put out a massive out of control blaze or the 2005 relief efforts to southern Asia after the tsunami, to name just a few.
Many in the world may choose to hate us, but they do know that Israel has and will come through for them over and over again to offer humanitarian aid in time of crisis. Surely as a Jewish nation founded on the notion of being Or Lagoyim, a Light Unto the Nations, that is part of our purpose, to set an example for how decent people the world over should behave. It's a principle laid down in our most sacred texts - even if you see the ox or the donkey of your enemy collapsing under its burden you are required to help. If we've helped to spread that concept around, then we're fulfilling at least part of our mission.
This Hannukah's miracle is very much bittersweet, there's no denying it, and yes, maybe we imagine a miracle as Hashem opening the heavens at exactly the right time and dousing the flames with rain, but we need to open our eyes wider and appreciate the miracle of civilised peoples helping one another. In a crazy fickle world that isn't something to be taken for granted.
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